


James Bond Will Return

by sorion



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Character Study, M/M, Post-SPECTRE, Rimming, Romance, Spoilers for SPECTRE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorion/pseuds/sorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because that's what I do, isn't it? I give him what he needs to come back, and then I trust that he will."</p><p>COMPLETED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like a Bad Penny

**Author's Note:**

> I'll post the parts as I write them. I just wanted to play with the boys after _Spectre_ , since there was so much more added to their dynamic ♥  
> I don't have a lot of time for writing (since I just got a new job), but I always finish my stories :)

The rumours reach Q before the man himself does. Not that Q is surprised. For a secret agent, Bond's always had the kind of presence that could be felt from two floors below. And being far below the rest of MI6 is where Q still prefers to work, even though most things have returned to the status quo, and he doesn't have shady characters like the Bond-dubbed "C" breathing down his neck. No, he just likes it down here. His team likes it down here. And when word reaches him in his back corner in the form of repeatedly whispered "Bonds" and "007s" and even one astonished, "He came _back_?"... he has a full minute to decide what he thinks of the news before Bond enters his domain like thunder rolling in after the first flashes of lightning.

Oh, who is he kidding? There was never a question about what he would think if and when Bond was back, and when he sees him in all his poised glory including a small benign smirk, Q can't help but smile back a bit and tilts his head in greeting.

"Q," Bond says once he stands in front of Q's desk.

"007. Welcome back."  
Q conspiratorially leans over his desk and closer to Bond. "You have caused quite the stir down here..." he informs him in a hushed voice that doesn't carry far enough for his team to hear.

"Oh?"

"Hm," Q hums in confirmation. "Apparently, there's been an office pool about whether or not you'd come back at all."

For the briefest of moments, a complicated look passes Bond's expression, and then it's gone, and he raises his eyebrows. "I haven't been gone that long," he protests mildly.

Q opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again as he changes his mind. "Indeed not," he says. His face softens just enough to be noticed by anyone particularly observant. Like Bond. "It's good to have you back."

Bond allows the flicker of a knowing smile. "How much money did you win?"

Q looks at him admonishingly. "Really, 007. I'm not one to gamble."

Bond stares him down with amusement glinting in his eyes until Q sighs.

"Only about two hundred quid."

Bond grins at him.

"Well, then," Q says and clears his throat. "What brings you down here?"

Bond shifts and absently picks up a pen from Q's desk.

"It doesn't explode," Q lets him know, and Bond smiles again.

"I owe you a car," Bond says and looks up from the pen and into Q's eyes. "Or two," he adds after a moment.

Q blinks when he can actually see the DB5 being brought in behind Bond. He didn't expect to see that one again.

"And perhaps an apology," Bond continues.

Q's lips twitch. "Or two."

"Or two," Bond agrees, and for a long moment, they smile mutedly at each other, before Bond's expression turns serious again. "Thank you."

Q fancies he can hear more in that than a simple, _'Thank you for the car. Or two,'_ and smiles honestly.  
"It was my pleasure, 007."

With another nod, Bond puts the pen back down and turns to leave.

 

Left alone, Q breathes out and asks himself – not for the first time – if it is in any way possible that Bond hasn't noticed Q's ridiculous crush on him that tenaciously doesn't show any signs of abating. Then he sits down and has to once more accept the fact that Bond is a master at reading people, and there unfortunately isn't a chance in hell that he doesn't know. The more fortunate side of things include Q having long since accepted that fact and Bond actually liking and trusting Q. It's flattering and makes Q mind a little less that he doesn't have the control over his emotions that he'd like.

Still. He could definitely use a drink right about now. He checks the time and realises that, if he's very lucky, Moneypenny might be off the clock in a bit, so he locks up shop and goes to find her in M's anteroom.

She of course is thoroughly unsurprised to see him, which should probably annoy Q but doesn't because he already knew she would be. They know each other quite well, after all. They have always been much closer in age than everyone else on their level in the hierarchy, and the more recent events have produced an interesting little core group that could stand together against all odds. Trust has become a valuable asset, and Q knows well by now that people you trust can only help you if you share relevant information. Consequently, M and Tanner wouldn't have been surprised to see him right now either. And though Q – being a private person by nature – is far from comfortable with sharing certain things, he is now alright with it. Within this small, sworn, and fire-tested circle, that is.

She smirks at him when he lets himself drop into a waiting chair like a puppet with its strings cut.  
"Happy now?" she teases him.

"I haven't decided yet, but I need a drink."

She crosses her arms on her desk. "Of course you're happy," she states. Because of course he is, but that doesn't mean he knows what to do with it.

"Of course I am," he admits without missing a beat, "because I'm a selfish bastard."

She smiles at him. "Not too much of one. You'd have been happy if he'd left for good, too."

Q holds up a finger. "For him. Not for me." He sighs and stares at the hands he lets fall into his lap. "To be honest... I thought this was it. That he was where he belonged and wouldn't return."

Moneypenny huffs. "I saw that ballot; you can't hide anything from me, Q." She frowns a bit, confused. "You bet _money_ on his return."

Q smiles to himself. "Because that's what I do, isn't it?" He looks at her again. "I give him what he needs to come back, and then I trust that he will."

Moneypenny studies him with growing comprehension and then checks her watch. "Right. That drink is calling, boffin."

 

It takes two drinks, but then Q starts looking less like his heart is about to thump out of his chest, Moneypenny notes and allows herself to relax a bit more, as well.  
"So, I guess I was the only one who truly believed he'd be back," she finally says.

Q laughs into his glass. "You should have bet money on it too."

She ignores that and continues: "Because the woman was about to leave at first, yeah?"

Q quizzically nods. He hasn't seen it happen, but that must have been when she was taken by Blofeld and then strapped to a bomb, because, apparently, that is what villains do when they really get into their villainy. It's a good thing, Q thinks absently, that he's not a villain. He'd just shoot adversaries and be done with it.

"And then all hell broke loose, and she stayed..." She breathes out. "But it was really only a matter of time before she'd realise the same thing a second time."

"And what's that?"

"That he's James Bond. He might still know how to love, but he doesn't know how to quit. How to stop doing what he does. He can't stand by and watch; not while his country needs him and he can still do something."

Q returns her solemn look. He doesn't nod, but his eyes agree with her. "In my less selfish moments, I almost hoped that he might. You know."

She does know, but the words won't come, because they both know that they don't go with _James Bond_. Let go. Settle down. Be happy.

"You think she left?" Q asks after a moment.

"Either that, or he let her go." Her eyes fall to the side and stare into middle-distance before her thoughts return and she asks Q, "Or do you really think he'd be back otherwise?" It's a rhetorical question. 

Q shakes his head. "No." He seems to drown in his glass, his eyes firmly on the small ripples within, an almost guilty expression on his face. He startles when Moneypenny reaches for his hand.  
"I did want him to be happy," he protests against his own thoughts that are insistently and painfully coursing through his mind. "I did."

Moneypenny smiles at him kindly. "And now you get to make sure again that he stays alive."

The words make the spiral of dark thoughts stop spinning and him smile. "I'm good at that," he says, knowing that much.

"The best."

 

They sit in comfortable companionship, until they are being joined by a third party.

M steering towards their table has both of them straighten in their seats. He nods at them as he sits.  
"Miss Moneypenny, Quartermaster."

They greet him. "Sir."

"At ease," he smiles, tiredly. "We're off the clock." He orders a drink.

"Has your meeting gone well, sir?" Moneypenny asks, politely.

"What?" M's thoughts have clearly been somewhere else. "Oh, yes." He waves it off and somewhat uncomfortably clears his throat, his eyes seeking Q.  
"Just a quick word."

Q flinches and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sir."

M smiles at him sardonically. "In light of the most recent events..." he starts, making both his companions huff a small laugh, "... and the conflict of interest form you have filed a few weeks back..." He visibly battles his discomfort and meets Q's eyes head-on. "Should I be worried?"

"No more than usual, sir."

M's eyes flicker to Moneypenny who doesn't disagree, so he nods. "Half the staff are less than immune to 007's questionable charms, but both your position and your mutual trust require a bit more caution," he says diplomatically. "So you'll forgive me for asking."

"Of course." Q shrugs. "I'm used to it," he says, unconcerned. "There's no need to worry."

M nods. "Good." Then he leans closer. "But the next time you feel like you need to chase after him, I trust that you will trust me and let me know beforehand."

Q sheepishly licks his lips and sips his drink.

"As I will listen to your reasoning," M adds as a sort of peace offering. At Q's surprised look, he smiles a bit and leans back. "I am well aware that you wouldn't do it without good reason."

Q exchanges a look with Moneypenny. Trust goes both ways, doesn't it.  
"Thank you, sir."

M gets his drink and raises it in a toast. "No more shop talk. The agency has reason to celebrate," he says and takes a large gulp. "At least until Bond blows another hole in the budget."

 

As they wrap up the night and all stand to leave, M takes a hold of Q's arm and lowers his voice, "And I will need you to do something about Bond's smart blood."

Q blinks. That hasn't been on his radar ever since he realised through trial and error (again) that it could be more of a liability than an advantage. "All files pertaining to him have been deleted, as requested."

"Yes, but it's still in his system. It'll either have to go," at that, Q tenses, no doubt thinking about dialyses and the likes, "or be made perfectly safe."

Q nods. "Yes, sir."

"As soon as possible would probably be best," M adds sardonically.

Q smirks back. "Of course." Now that he thinks about it again, there are always things that can be done with the nano trackers. He's done it more than once already, after all.

* * *

Which has Bond walk into Q's domain two days later.

"Q."

"Ah, Bond. Good. Follow me, please."

Bond obeys and saunters after him. "Am I about to be poked again?"

Q's lips quirk as he points at the very same chair where Bond has been injected with the smart blood last time. "Not today. You're about to be reprogrammed."  
He sits, takes a plate with various sensors, and rolls over to Bond with his chair where he starts sticking the sensors on Bond's forearms and over his carotid.  
"Now," he says, rolling back to his computer, "this will take a while, but you won't feel a thing. So just..." he waves vaguely in Bond's direction, "... relax."

Bond lets Q work in silence for a while, listening to his typing. "So what are you doing?"

"Ensuring that your smart blood doesn't send a signal unless I activate it from here. As in, me personally." He looks over his shoulder. "Though I should probably add M at least, as a failsafe."

Bond considers that. "And maybe Moneypenny and Tanner."

Q smiles at him. "Precisely. As for now, it's just me." He pulls a face. "This should have been done in the first place, but you were making such a fuss in Mexico that M wanted it inside you as quickly as humanly possible."

Bond grins. "Did you make me your guinea pig, Q?"

Q frowns at him. "I'll have you know, it was perfectly safe. Or it _would_ have been if C hadn't _legally_ gained access to everything." He huffs and returns to typing. "But, yes, some flaws came to light," he admits grudgingly.

"I wasn't worried."

Q doesn't turn to look at him, but he smiles a bit at the blatant and unhesitant display of trust.

 

Bond lets him work for a bit longer before he interrupts again. "Could you do something for me?"

Q smirks benignly. "How much trouble am I going to end up in if I do?"

Bond chuckles. "No trouble."

"I'm listening."

"Could you... personally keep an eye on Blofeld for me?"

Q stops typing. Then resumes.

Bond's eyes seem far away. "He doesn't strike me as the type to remain captive for long."

"Way ahead of you," Q says, and Bond has to grin. "I've been keeping an eye out ever since he was brought in."

A disturbing thought occurs to Bond. "You didn't inject him with your smart blood, did you?"

Q huffs. "No." Then he considers that and rephrases. "Well, I considered it for all of two seconds before realising that keeping track of him wasn't worth giving him my tech in case he does get out and could do god-knows-what with it."

Bond releases the breath he's been holding and relaxes a bit. "Good." His eyes are focused on Q's jaw where he can make out the edge of a small smile. "You understand."

Q looks over his shoulder again. "I do."

 

The silence this time stretches. It stretches for so long that Q thinks that Bond must have fallen asleep.

"Am I alone, Q?"

The words shock Q as much as the tone of voice, and he swivels around in his chair quickly enough to make out the same odd expression on Bond's face he's seen two days earlier for the fraction of a second.  
"What?"

Bond shakes himself out of it and the look is gone after the blink of an eye. He coughs once. "Nothing. Never mind."

Q doesn't just accept that and return to work, however. He keeps reading the impenetrable agent for a long minute.  
"You're not alone, James," is what he finally says, a soft look on his face.

Blue eyes almost tentatively meet hazel.

"I mean," Q continues, "I understand that it must feel like that when you're out in the field. And of course I would see it differently, being holed up here with buzzing people all around me who do nothing but incessantly gossip about you..."

Damn. Bond has to smirk again.

Q explosively breathes out. "Do you have any idea of the lengths we would go for you? Do you?"

Bond doesn't answer, but he does have an idea and it shows, even if he doesn't know what to do with it.

"You may think you have us all wrapped around your little finger, but we all know what we're doing when we're going along with your crazy schemes." A rueful smile plays around the corners of his mouth. "Or we trust that _you_ at least know what you're doing."

Bond can't hold back another small laugh.

Q seems happy enough with that accomplishment. "What on earth would make you think that you're alone?"

Bond relaxes back in his seat, smiling unseeingly at the ceiling. "No reason," he assures Q, but he looks as if a ghost has just been lifted off his shoulders. He closes his eyes and leaves the rest of the treatment in the hands of his talented quartermaster.


	2. Wake or Sleep

Q almost relaxes in the following months as things turn back to the normal he could ever expect working in a position like his. His agents do the impossible or at least very unlikely, while he ensures that they can do so with the unlikely or even impossible. M's position – having been strengthened after the whole C debacle – has allowed for some of the tension to abate, leaving only the usual life-or-death or war-or-peace type of tension. And, in Q's case, the not entirely unwelcome tension of seeing 007 on a regular basis without the fear of him leaving and having the gall to be happy somewhere that is not at MI6. He's... got used to it, for lack of a better expression, and he's read enough classics to just file his infatuation with Bond as some sort of Petrarchan admiration. As long as he's not in a situation in which someone could possibly take advantage of that, it hardly matters.

Yes, that is normal enough, isn't it?

Q doesn't think much of it when Bond enters his workshop one evening; he just acknowledges the tiny burst of warmth as par for the course, and expects the recalcitrant agent to demand something ludicrous like mundane objects that explode.

"007," he greets him. "What can I do for you this fine evening?"

Bond grins at him. "You're in a good mood."

Q considers that. Things _have_ gone rather smoothly in the past few days. "You have brought back the car intact as well as most of your tech, yesterday..." he agrees, musingly.

"So there was no reason for you to unleash those infernal felines you call cats and send them after me," Bond finishes for Q, suspiciously looking around for said infernal felines.

"Indeed. And the infernal felines aren't here today."

"Thank god for small mercies. I need to talk to you." He adds the second half quickly and without taking a breath.

Q blinks. "Is there something the matter, 007?"

Bond studies Q for a second. "I had a post-mission chat with the psychologist, this morning." His eyes sharpen some more, as if he was keeping track of every minute change in Q's expression. "And he might have let something slip..."

Q rolls his eyes. "Did you interrogate your therapist?"

Bond smirks. "Just a bit." He sobers after hardly more than a second or two. "As I said," he returns to his initial topic, "he said something curious that made me want to check your file..." He leaves the end of the sentence hanging until he can see comprehension dawn on Q's face.

Q stares into Bond's eyes in shock, then his shoulders sag and he breathes out. "Well," he says, averting his eyes. "It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?" He walks away, expecting Bond to follow. "We're going to have to continue this discussion in my private office, if you don't mind."

Once in his office, Q remains standing in the middle of the room with his back to Bond. "Close the door, please." He can hear the click and turns to face the music. He takes a deep breath.  
"Yes, I filed the conflict of interest form, and, yes, it was for the reason stated, seeing as I signed it and all," he adds the last bit, raising his chin, almost daring Bond to make one of his usual, cocky remarks.

Bond stands still by the closed door, hands in his pockets. "It came as a bit of a surprise," he admits, "and I wanted-"

" _Surprise_?" Q bursts out. "Bond, I know for a fact that you can read people like pages in a book, and I'm a rotten liar."

Bond has to smile. "You are." He chooses his next words carefully. "I'm trying to understand why you would file a form." He takes out his hands and holds them out and to the side, conveying incomprehension. "So you have bent a few rules for me, but so has Moneypenny..."

"Eve's not..." Q interrupts himself before he can finish the sentence. "It's not the same thing." He clears his throat. "And you needn't worry, 007. I'm sure you can still get me to bend the rules every now and again, even if M knows about my... preoccupation."

"You think _that's_ why I'm here?" he says, sounding honestly upset. When Q lifts his head again, he can see that Bond looks as upset as he sounds.

"I didn't mean to imply..." He sighs. He really didn't mean to imply that Bond cares so little about his colleagues. The man may know exactly which buttons to push to get what he wants, but for all his hardass bravado, he does care. And Q knows himself well enough to recognise deflection from his own emotions when he sees it. His disparaging comment had more to do with his own insecurities than with Bond's questionable use of personal connections.  
"Why _are_ you here?"

"To find out why you would feel the need to file that bloody form!" At least it seems like Bond is well aware of Q's deflection, as well. He definitely doesn't let himself be distracted… "So I don't do something to drive you away. You're the best quartermaster MI6's ever had. You're most certainly the best quartermaster _I've_ ever had."

Bond sounds too honest for Q not to be flattered. "Thank you."

Bond suspiciously narrows his eyes. "And you're too professional to let... infatuation get in the way of your job."

Bond's calculating gaze makes Q's hackles rise, and he stares back. The challenge is all but _cackling_ between them and makes Q forget why he had originally decided to never tell Bond about Austria...  
"Do you know what happened in Austria?" he bursts out before his mind can catch up with him and stop him.

Bond's suspicion melts into confusion.

"While you were off chasing after Doctor Swann, some men chased me," Q states with an air of cold finality that startles even himself.

Bond freezes.

"I managed to slip away when they were distracted by a distant explosion," Q keeps rambling, the words tumbling out like a waterfall after the dam has finally managed to give in to the building pressure, "which I can only assume was your doing – so, thank you – and then I hid in a supply closet."

By now, Bond eerily looks like someone has just walked over his grave. "You... were almost captured because you came after me?"

Q blinks. "Well. I suppose." For some reason, he's never tied his almost being captured to the fact that it was Bond who made him go after him in the first place. His decisions are and have always been his own.  
He shrugs a bit. "The point is, I was hiding in that closet, and it occurred to me that they would probably torture me or something to get me to track you."

Bond curiously relaxes a bit. "So you would have done what they wanted and trusted me to deal with it. Wouldn't be the first time."

Q has the good grace to look a bit guilty.

Which makes the cold almost visibly crawl up the back of Bond's neck again. "Q..." He doesn't have to say anything else. His expression spells it out loud and clear. _'Don't tell me that this means what I think it means!'_

"I know that's in the guidelines for a person in my position." He huffs a bit. "Specifically for me, actually," he adds sardonically. "Stay alive, let field agents do their job." He sighs heavily, angry at himself and then stares directly at Bond. "I filed the bloody form because I sat in that closet realising that there was probably nothing in the world they could do to me that would get me to betray you."

"No."

"Bond…"

"No!"

Q startles.

"You will _not_ force me to live with your blood on my hands, not when you're one of the few people who can be kept safe! I can deal with a lot, but not with _that_!"

Q listens to all the words, his eyes widening at the vehemence. This is not what he has expected, and it appears as if Bond hasn't quite expected it, either. "Bond…" he repeats.

"Promise me!"

This ignites Q's fire again, and he protests, "Well, I can't just turn off how I feel!"

"If you care at all for me, you won't do this to me!"

Q takes a step closer, standing his ground. "You can't just waltz in here, making demands on how I'm supposed to feel, 007! My feelings are my own!" At the barely concealed panic in Bond's expression, he softens a bit and sighs. "It's not like I'm out there and up for grabs all the time. I'm quite safe down here…"

"Not good enough," Bond growls, and Q immediately frowns at him.

"Fine! Then stick to the official channels, so I can help you from here – like I'm _supposed_ to – and don't get yourself into situations that force me to come after you!"

Bond has a stinging reply on his tongue and then unexpectedly pauses. "Did you just… blackmail me into taking better care of myself?"

"It appears that I did," Q confirms, unrepentant. "Oh, and if it makes you feel any better," he adds as an afterthought, "ever since I filed that form, you've no longer been the only one traipsing about with smart blood in his system."

"Do I have access?" Bond asks immediately, not one to pass up a chance like this. He really doesn't think he could deal with having this brilliant young man injured or killed because he – James bloody Bond – was being his usual reckless self.

"I can give you access." Q doesn't hesitate, either. "If you insist."

"I insist."

"Good..." After this matter-of-fact transaction, Q seems at loss as to how to deal with the situation. "I'll, uhm, let you know, then."

Bond, though still not entirely happy with what he's just learned, gives a small, flirtatious little grin and a head tilt, until he realises what he's doing and straightens. He clears his throat. "Sorry."

Q returns the look with a benign smile. "Not to worry, 007. I can deal with you being... well... you." The smile fades a bit. "I'm not at all sure I'd deal as well with you walking on eggshells around me from now on..." he says expectantly.

Bond's smile grows again. "I won't."

"Good," Q says, the quartermaster firmly in place again. "Now, is there anything else I can help you with, today, 007?"

Bond is about to say no, then changes his mind. "You could reconsider your position on proper kidnapping behaviour for me."

"A kidnapping I have no intention of ever letting take place," Q replies noncommittally.

Bond just watches Q for a long moment. "Fair enough," he finally says.

Q nods, once. Then, as Bond turns to leave, he calls him back. "Bond."

Bond half turns. "Yes?"

Q uncomfortably averts his eyes, licks his lips, and then faces Bond, head-on. "Thank you," he says softly, seriously.

Bond doesn't doubt for a second what he is being thanked for. "My pleasure, Q."

* * *

Bond doesn't think about Q's _'preoccupation'_ all that much for nearly half a year or so. He can see it every time he has the quartermaster in front of him, sees it in his body language and his carefully not-lingering eyes, but he doesn't think that anyone else (who hasn't read the physical copy of the conflict of interest form) has noticed the same.

Occasionally (usually when he _doesn't_ have Q in front of him) Q's almost angry words return to him. _'I filed the bloody form because I sat in that closet realising that there was probably nothing in the world they could do to me that would get me to betray you.'_  
Bloody Q. _Bond's_ the one who should be in mortal peril all the damn time. Yet, people he encounters, people he stupidly learns to care about, get themselves into danger and then killed, even though it should have been Bond himself.

Bond knows it's his time to die, every time he goes into the field... in the same way he knows that death will bend to his will because he's _not ready to kick it yet, goddamit_! And then death comes to collect, and it's up to Bond to watch because he's unable to do anything about it.

Madeline… would have been the first to be targeted. Both by Bond's enemies and by death himself who would come to ensure that Bond pays his debts with the blood of loved ones. Some nights, Bond resents her for leaving. Other nights, he is relieved. The first decreases with every day he is once more following his destiny for Queen and country, and the _other nights_ slowly become _most nights_ , leaving a warm fondness for a love that didn't have to end in death.

All the more chilling is the knowledge that there is now someone else who… cares for him, someone who would go to his death for him. And there is nothing Bond can do about it, because that brilliant someone is part of _this_ life, the life of assassins and secrets. Brilliant, sarcastic, funny, beautiful, and so, so strong. It takes Bond several weeks before he notices that during some of his lonely nights, he no longer feels resentment or relief. He doesn't think of Madeline at all.

 

And now he's here. Slowly regaining consciousness, waking up to a pounding headache and Q's voice in his ear.

He groans, and the voice in his ear abruptly stops and then…

"Bond?" It's more breath than actual voice.

"Here, Q."

A shuddering breath. "Target?"

Bond rolls onto his side to look, but he has to assume that the target is neutralised, or he never would have woken up. He sees the broken window and remembers. Ah. Yes. There was a struggle, and he did manage to push his target out the window. And then… He sees the beam lying next to himself.  
"He's dead." He runs a hand over his skull and winces. "We fell down one floor earlier, and some parts of the ceiling must have come loose. I got hit on the head."

"Medical evac is on the way."

"I'm fine," he says and is about to stand.

"Your vitals are less than satisfactory," Q snaps at him. "You will stay where you are and wait for the paramedics!"

Since his headache is not happy that he moved, Bond doesn't mind all that much obeying that order. Just this once.  
"You switched on my blood?" he asks.

"You weren't responding," Q retorts without missing a beat. "And we couldn't hear you breathing."

Bond has to smile. He actually quite likes carrying Q's brilliant invention with him all the time, pumping through him.  
"I'm sorry, Q."

"You'd damn well better be! Your theatrics just keep getting worse. Perhaps a leash would be more fitting than a tracker in your bloodstream."

Bond chuckles mutedly, even though it sends tiny bursts of pain through his head. "Did you get the data?"

"Yes," Q confirms, grudgingly. "Which is a good thing, because it'll keep me too busy to worry about your thick skull."

Bond can hear steps on the stairs, rushing towards him. "Is that medevac I hear?"

"Yes," Q confirms. "Do as the doctor orders, and be good."

"As gold."

"Ha! That would be the day."

Bond's smile is so wide, it hurts the cut on his cheek. "Doctors are here. I'll be back soon."

"See that you are," says, sounding like he's trying very hard to be angry. Then the line goes dead, but Bond has the feeling that Q is still listening, even if he can't hear him.

As he is being brought away, the unbidden image of Q sitting by his bedside enters his mind, and he's too tired and too sore to stop it. Instead, he allows himself to enjoy the fantasy of someone waiting for him, perhaps even brush his forehead in affection. Maybe kiss him as he falls asleep.

Before all thoughts lose coherency, he can hear a warm voice through the haze of injuries and painkillers.

"We'll be here when you need us, 007."

Bond is about to say that he really only needs Q at the other end of his line, but he's already asleep.

 

When Bond returns two days later in the evening and wants to bring Q his (undamaged and entirely functional) Walther, he is being told that the quartermaster has left already.

"Miss Moneypenny has staged an intervention," one of Q's technicians tells him. "He hasn't left MI6 in the past two days and only slept in his office."

Bond raises an eyebrow. "And Moneypenny dragged him outside?"

The technician smirks. "Kicking and screaming, sir."

Bond smirks back. "Good."

"And, uh…" the technician adds uncomfortably, "… Miss Moneypenny implied that we should inform you of their whereabouts."

"Oh?"

"The quartermaster's been worried about you, sir. Seeing you unharmed might help."

Bond peeks at the screen with the CCTV image he is surreptitiously being shown and nods. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

 

He finds Q and Moneypenny in the back corner of a pub where they have obviously already eaten dinner, before the drinks must have started arriving either during or very shortly after. Q looks on his way to become thoroughly sloshed, and Moneypenny chats disarmingly with him.

Bond steers right towards their table and slides into a seat next to Moneypenny and facing Q.

"James," Moneypenny greets him with a not at all disarming glint in her eyes.

"Good evening," Bond says, genially.

Q's glassy eyes take him in for a long moment, apparently trying to keep track of the swaying agent he attempts to focus on. Then he scowls.  
"I'm too drunk to deal with you, right now," he states, much more firmly than should be possible for someone that inebriated. "I'd just try to snog you, and then I'd have to kill myself in the morning."

Bond, despite himself, is utterly charmed by this Q without any defences. Not that the professional Q isn't a sight to behold, but _this_ is a novelty...  
His lips twitch. "I don't believe you will remember any of this…"

Q scowls at him. "What do you take me for? My memory is ex… ex-cel… lent."

By now, Bond outright smiles at him. But just to make sure, he turns to Moneypenny. "Is he going to be okay?"

Moneypenny hides her grin behind her glass. "He'll be fine. Though I've never seen him quite this drunk."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Q protests. "Which I am. Here. Right here."

Bond holds back a laugh. "I'm very tempted to get a drink for myself and watch where this is going, but I think the evening's over for you."

Q is about to take another sip of his drink and then vehemently points the hand (with the drink in it) at Bond, spilling most of it.  
"You're not my mother!"

Moneypenny takes the glass out of Q's hand. "No, but he's right. You should stop drinking. You're going to regret this tomorrow as it is."

Q morosely stares at his empty and wet hand. "I don't mind regretting this. I like drunk me. Drunk me doesn't worry so much."

Bond leans over the table and lays a hand on Q's shoulder. "Drunk you is charming, but I think I prefer sober you."

Q looks at him with wide eyes. "You do?" he asks, apparently the thought never having occurred to him that anyone might a) like him and b) like him when he's his usual, precise self.

Moneypenny on the other hand watches Q as if he's one of those saccharine baby kitten videos on YouTube, and Bond has to silently admit he's similarly affected.

"Moneypenny and I can take you home," Bond says. "I brought the new Aston Martin," he adds, in the hopes that Q might be more easily convinced that way.

Q sways, dreamily. "I do like that car."

Thankfully, the car is incentive enough that drunk Q forgets that his drunk mind was having some other thoughts, and he lets himself be manhandled to the car by Bond, while Moneypenny deals with their tab.

When she gets to the car as well, Bond has somehow strapped Q in the back, half-lying and dozing.

Bond navigates them out of the parking lot and into the late evening traffic.  
"It's because of me, isn't it?" he asks when he can hear Q snore a bit.

"He'll be fine," Moneypenny repeats her earlier words. "He was worried when you got knocked out, but he remained professional throughout."

Bond nods, absently. "I expected no differently."

"Then he worked himself into the ground until I dragged him out," she continues cheerfully. "Tomorrow, he'll be hungover, bemoan that he ever mentioned you and the word _'snog'_ in connection with each other, but he'll be fine, now that you're safe."  
She studies Bond's expression and smiles, satisfied. "You do care about him, don't you?"

"Of course I do." He doesn't elaborate. He's not sure he could, and Moneypenny doesn't ask.

 

When they arrive at Q's apartment complex, and Bond tries to manoeuvre the man out of the car, Q nearly falls over. Not wanting to end up with a concussed Q who has accidentally walked into a lamp post, Bond picks him up without further ado, bridal style.

Q moans, pitifully. "Nooo. 'S barrassing."

Bond just smiles as Moneypenny unlocks the door and calls the elevator.  
"If I carry you over my shoulder, you're going to throw up down my back."

"'M not that drunk," Q mumbles.

"Thank god for that," Bond agrees dryly.

Inside the apartment, Moneypenny points down the hallway. "The bedroom's at the other end of the hall. I'm going to see if I can find some painkillers to put on his bedside table."

Bond grunts in acknowledgement and carries Q to his bed where he lays him down gently and takes off his shoes and coat.

Q bats at his hands, barely awake.

"Hold still, darling," Bond says, unthinkingly, and once he realises what he's said, it's too late to panic, because Q doesn't respond at all. Bond quickly decides to also remove Q's trousers, and then pulls the quilt over his lithe body, sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs. Better remove the glasses as well. When he's folded the glasses and put them on the bedside table, Q is unexpectedly looking at him, and Bond can't help but be captivated by that look.

"I don't want you to go," Q states, surprisingly lucidly, before his eyes fall closed again.

"I know," Bond says, softly. He brushes a curl from where it teases Q's eyelashes. "Perhaps I'll have that discussion with sober you, one day." He gives into temptation and presses a feathery kiss on Q's forehead.

Clearly, Q doesn't process any of what Bond is saying or doing and only mumbles, "Sober me loves you even more than I do," and finally falls asleep.

Bond stares for a moment longer and then rubs both his hands over his face. "Christ."

"Hm," Moneypenny hums in agreement from the doorway, glass of water, painkillers, and a large bowl in hand. "He's got it bad." She puts water and painkillers on the bedside table and the bowl on the floor.

Bond's eyes don't leave Q's slumbering form.

"Which is why you should tread very carefully, James."

"I probably shouldn't tread at all," Bond says, gruffly.

"No," Moneypenny agrees, but she sounds like she's not entirely sure. "I guess that would depend on both of you," she allows.

Doesn't it always? Bond wants to say, but doesn't. It depends on two people for _normal_ people. He doesn't know what decisions like that one would even depend on for the likes of them. Not anymore. Not with Q. Q is… Q. Bond's always had either love or MI6. This would be different... dangerous. Inadvisable. And he doesn't even know where he stands in all this.

Abruptly, Bond stands and strides out of the room.  
"Let's go. He needs his rest."

Moneypenny sighs after a short look at Q and then follows Bond.


	3. Morning After

Bond does have his drink, later, after all. Not in company, but with certain company in mind. Initially, he has poured himself a drink to _stop_ thinking, but perhaps it really was his desire to no longer have the inhibitions that would keep him from thinking about hazel eyes full of inadvisable affection that was the true reason for the Scotch. So now he lies on his sofa with his third glass balanced on his chest.

The longer he lets the alcohol take effect, the more circular his thinking becomes. Mostly, because all the redundant thoughts are too much effort to procure. It boils down to this:  
He can no longer deny that he does desire Q. Desire he understands, and it doesn't usually worry him. Desire is much like the glass in his hand. Something to be enjoyed and savoured, but nothing that keeps his mind busy for long. Desire for _Q_ on the other hand is a different matter entirely, and the fact that he can no longer deny it doesn't magically let him know what to do about it.

So, the idea of giving in to his and Q's desire has turned out to be quite appealing, while the reality of it raises red flags on every possible level. Q's reluctance to let Bond know about it or even initiate contact isn't a case of insecurity – Bond has no doubt that _'insecurity'_ isn’t a word Q has allowed to remain in his vocabulary – no, it is simple practicality and a sense for reality that Bond usually lacks in that particular area.

And the problem isn’t the sexual aspect, it’s the emotional one. A fact that Q must be only too aware of; hence the conflict of interest form he has filed. Bond can appreciate that kind of self-awareness. It saves time and avoids confusion and misunderstandings.

He downs the rest of the drink and tries to list all of the most reasonable arguments that Q must have found for himself. The work, the danger to anyone one might dare to love, the distraction. Then there's the politics of such a situation. Q's position might be questioned; he would have to face all manners of accusations – from favouritism to manipulation to having used sex to get his appointment in the first place. Thinking back, Bond is sure that – should he start sleeping with Q – some might just assume that this must always have been the reason why Q would bend the rules for Bond to the point of treason. That thought irks Bond, and he instinctively shies away from it.

After no more than a minute in each other's company, there has been solid respect between both of them, and their mutual trust is something to be proud of, something Bond _is_ proud of, and while he doesn’t usually care what other people think, this one thing somehow matters. Because Q trusts _him_. _Trusts_ him. Love is so much easier to come by, Bond knows.

Though there may have been respect, there was no tender aspect to their bond (no pun intended) at the beginning of their acquaintance. Bond has seen Q's feelings grow in tandem with Bond's gradually returning spirit. The light sparking in both their eyes whenever Bond has managed to complete an explosive mission with one of Q's little aids in his pocket. Ah, yes. A shared joy. And that has always been all Q's allowed himself to express.

In truth, their behaviour at work has little to nothing to do with their personal feelings. That they have always had a good rapport certainly helps, but the rules they bend and the blind trust they have in each other stems from a rare, shared understanding, and that is something everyone in their general vicinity can observe between them.

Bond admires Q's self-control. He doubts that anyone but Bond has as of yet noticed Q's infatuation without being explicitly told. Well, perhaps Moneypenny. 

However... all the well-argued reasons and the well-founded apprehensions can't squash the seed that has been planted in Bond's mind months ago, growing quietly, and that has just received a new fervour with the image of Q in his bed, soft and pliant, speaking to Bond of sweet and undemanding love.

Bond only consciously realises that his hand has slipped between the folds of his robe when it is already wrapped around his cock. And by that time, he sees no reason to not indulge. The glistening cherry lips and unguarded eyes are only a fantasy, after all.

* * *

Q wakes up to a pounding headache, a queasy stomach, and the blessing of water and painkillers waiting for him. Had he known, though, that the discomfort was distracting him from the memory of the previous night, he probably would have waited a bit longer before downing two pills and drinking the whole glass.

The panic gives him a respite of less than two minutes. Then Moneypenny's face of the past night of drinking is suddenly joined by...

Q's eyes shoot open. "No," he croaks into the empty room. "No, no, no..." He sits abruptly, as if waking up more would make him realise that he is having a hangover fantasy. But, of course, the opposite happens, more memories surface, and he suddenly feels like being violently sick.

He rushes to the bathroom – almost stumbling over the bowl that has been put there by the foresight of Moneypenny but that Q doesn't have the presence of mind to process – and throws up into the toilet. Hunched over, gasping and with tearing eyes, he absently watches the two half-dissolved painkillers float in the water.

Drained, resigned, and probably in some kind of shock, Q lets himself fall to the ground, breathing harshly and trying to melt into the cool, tiled floor.

Once his stomach stops cramping and only feels like an angry fire sprite instead of a golem trying to crawl up his throat, he closes his eyes and rubs his face.

"Q, you bloody fucking idiot."

It takes him half an hour and more water (he still doesn't think he can stomach tea) before he has pulled himself together enough to install himself on the sofa with both his cats and call Eve. (Well. One cat decides to remain with him; the other gives him an unimpressed look and trots off.) Maybe it's not as bad as all that. Maybe his stupid crush has been wildly blown out of proportion by the alcohol...

"Good morning, sunshine!" Eve greets him with entirely too much cheer at this hour of the morning, and Q realises with growing dread that the alcohol hasn't blown anything out of proportion, and it is entirely possible that not only _is_ it as bad as all that, but it could be worse...

"Oh, god..."

Eve patiently waits for Q's internal breakdown to end.

"How bad is it?" he wants to know when he can make himself ask.

"How much do you remember?"

"... Not sure."

Eve huffs a little laugh. "How much do you _want_ to remember?"

"Oh _god_..." This sounds like he is about to discover new heights of embarrassment...

Eve laughs. "Calm down. It's not that bad.."

A dreadful thought occurs to Q. "I didn't... get... physical, did I?"

"No, but Bond did have to carry you to bed."

Q only whimpers at this point. Then a warm, soft memory surfaces. Q knows for a fact that – once he remembers it more clearly and the embarrassment abates – he will cherish it for a long time.

"Oh, don't be such a baby. Bond likes you and won't hold any of what you said yesterday against you. It's not anything he didn't already know, anyway."

Q's face is burning. "What did I say?"

Eve pauses. "Do you really want to know?"

"Just tell me!" Q bursts out. "Please. I need to know... I just need to know."

Eve sighs. "Just some drunken rambling about wanting to snog him."

Q groans. Well, that's certainly embarrassing, but doesn't warrant Eve's odd hesitation. "That's not what you were thinking just now."

The hesitation is back. "There's something else you said... I only caught the tail end of it, I think, when he put you to bed and I went painkiller hunting..."

"Thanks for that, by the way."

"You're welcome," she says. "Anyway, when I came back, I think you startled the big, bad agent."

Q releases his breath, resigned. "It _is_ bad, isn't it."

"Not bad, per se," Eve says, sounding both amused and thoughtful. "Something like, _'Sober me loves you even more than I do.'_ "

"Christ..."

"That's what he said."

A shaky laugh escapes Q. "I bet."

"See. It's not that bad."

Q closes his eyes against the world, but he has to admit that, no, it's not that bad. "I guess he already knew that, like you said."

"He takes you seriously, _and_ he likes you. And you know he doesn't take anyone seriously..."

"Not sure the former's still true."

"I was talking to him afterwards, and it is." She pauses and the imp returns to her voice. "You can find out for yourself, soon enough."

"Euch! Don't remind me that I still have to work with him after this. Not ever."

Eve laughs.

* * *

Bond gives Q the entire weekend before he finds him again, Monday morning, and Q doesn't know whether to be thankful or not. On the one hand, it gives him time to calm down; on the other hand, a weekend is a lot of time to stew in regrets…

Once Monday comes around, Q is actually relieved that Bond shows up early enough in the morning to not let him fret for any longer and to miss the bulk of Q's team arriving. He knows that he needs to outfit Bond who is scheduled to leave for a mission later that day, and he hopes that their friendship and professional connection haven't suffered because of his… loss of control. Somehow, however, he gives Bond enough credit to believe that they won't have.

Q watches Bond nonchalantly strut into Q-Branch, and Q ruefully (but definitely amused) shakes his head.  
"Good morning, 007."

"Good morning, Q." He briefly looks around the workshop, taking note of the two technicians who are already present at this hour. "Might we have this discussion in your office?"

"Could we just not have it at all?" Q asks, hopefully, but gets up and heads towards his office anyway.

Bond follows him with a tiny grin. "I'm afraid this is something that shouldn't go unsaid."

"I was afraid of that." He enters his office and gestures Bond to close the door. "Now, Bond, what have you to say on my lack of self-control?"

"Actually… I was just thinking the other day that your self-control is admirable."

Q looks dubious.

"Now, _my_ self-control – in matters such as this one at least – is, frankly, abysmal."

Q resists biting his lip to hold back his laugh and manages to just smirk a bit. Tactfully, he doesn't reply to that statement.

"Precisely," Bond self-deprecatingly agrees with Q's unspoken thought. He straightens his stance a bit. "Which is why I wanted to ask if you will have dinner with me."

Q can almost hear his mind derail and fall into the next ditch.

"You look surprised," Bond notes.

"Sur… I look surprised?" Q doesn't know what his thoughts are doing, never mind his words. "Bond, we've _discussed_ this. This isn't…" His sentence ends in him gaping like a fish for a few seconds.

"To be fair, we never actually discussed anything, we only agreed that you are not to get kidnapped and I shouldn't walk on eggshells around you…"

"You're not helping!" Q realises with some worry that his voice is adopting a slightly hysterical edge.

Bond holds up his hands. "If I may…?"

Q gestures vaguely with his hands, implying that Bond can do whatever the hell he likes, since Q isn't even entirely certain what planet he's on.

"I realise that there are things at stake," Bond starts, clearly having spent quite some time inside his head with these thoughts, as well. "I was thinking about your reputation…"

Q's eyes widen, incredulous and momentarily back on track. "My _reputation_?"

"Hear me out," Bond insists, "but then I realised that anyone who would so much as consider the notion that you are in your position on anything but your own merit, deserves to be fired."

"Damn straight!"

"Exactly. Then there might be the potential danger to either of us if we were… seeing each other." He seems a bit startled by his own words.

Q blinks. Repeatedly. "You… are actually serious about that. I mean, you're really asking."

Bond shrugs a bit helplessly – because, yes, he is – and finishes his earlier thought. "And again, I don't think either of us would be at a bigger risk than we already are. Not with the positions we're in. You're the head of Q-Branch, and I'm a field agent; we're already on top of every potential adversary's list."

"You really _are_ asking. Bond, you…" Q stares at him some more, "… you don't _do_ that kind of thing. Not with men. Not with _me_."

This appears to be the point that Bond has both expected and dreaded, because he doesn't have an answer for that one.  
"I'm not offering promises," he begins and trails off. "I probably couldn't keep them even if I wanted to…"

Q's expression softens. "I know. I would never…" He looks away and rubs his eyes under his glasses. "I never thought I'd need to have this discussion," he adds, mostly to himself. He sighs, then raises his head again. "I never would have demanded promises." He smiles a bit. "At least not whenever I dared to… imagine I'd ever be in this situation." The smile disappears. "But there are other reasons, James. To guarantee your safety to the best of my ability, I need to be able to focus. I cannot afford distractions."

"Whatever feelings you have for me, they haven't managed to distract you, so far," Bond states. "And they won't in the future," he finishes, firmly. 

Q sighs. "Your faith in me is astounding."

"Well deserved," Bond corrects him.

Q is grasping at straws, and he knows it. His resolve and control are impressive, but he has never managed to resist Bond for long.  
"Look, I appreciate that you're lonely, 007…"

Bond frowns. "I'm not lonely."

"You _are_ lonely," Q insists. "And I understand that you seek companionship more than someone to merely warm your bed for a night. Now that you… have seen what that could be like."

Bond looks uncomfortable to be the one who is being read, but he can't deny that Q is right.

"And now you think that I would be the one companion who understands your work and is already safely tucked away within the bowels of MI6…"

"And aren't you?"

This time, it's Q who can't deny.

"Q… I am not saying I feel for you what you feel for me. I can say that I do care about you. And I may not make promises…"

Q wants to tell him again that he's not asking for any.

"… But I am asking a question."

Q is halted in his train of thought.

"Will you have dinner with me?" The fact that it is Bond who is asking someone that question who is intertwined with his life, someone who will not disappear, someone who is both friend and asset… That fact weighs more than a promise would at this point, and they both understand that.

Q's resolve is dwindling. Mostly, because it has always been based on the assumption that Bond couldn't possibly be interested. All the other (absolutely reasonable) objections were of course present in the back of his mind, but never before has he needed to even access them. And now… he is blindsided by possibility and want.

"Oh, shit," bursts out of Q without his consent, and with two long strides, he's in front of Bond, frames his face and kisses him.  
He can feel Bond's surprise as if it was his own, and for a terrifying couple of seconds, he almost worries that Bond might have thought he wanted Q, but isn't prepared to actually take a male lover when he's not in the field and it is expected of him, but then Bond's lips first become pliant and then responsive, and then Q stops thinking for a good, long while.

Q becomes aware of himself again when Bond hums contently and slows the kiss, and Q notices that Bond's arms have wrapped around him.

"Well, now," Bond says, mischievously. "You don't seem disinclined at all."

Q nips at Bond's lips. "Confident bastard."

Bond hums against Q's lips. "You did give me quite a bit of time to adjust to the idea…"

One of Q's hands moves to the back of Bond's head and runs through the short hair. He's not entirely convinced that this is truly happening. He's probably still asleep. Having that hangover dream of two days ago.  
"I still need to outfit you…" he says, grasping a thought that makes more sense, even if it isn't the thought he wants to have at that moment.

"I knew nothing would distract you." Bond smiles, steals a kiss, and says, "We'll have that dinner when I get back."

It is then that Q remembers another reason to not get involved with Bond. Namely that 007 might not return from any given mission. A chill runs through him, and Bond – being who he is – can probably feel Q's tension before Q thinks of it.

Bond runs one calming hand up to Q's nape while the other moves downwards to the small of Q's back.  
"I'm coming back. I always do."

Q has to laugh a bit. "Yes," he concedes. "You do." He sobers and pulls Bond in for another slow if chaste kiss. "Thank you," he says softly.

Bond tilts his head. "What for?"

Q smiles a curious little smile. "Not sure yet, but I am feeling rather thankful."

Bond's smile reaches his eyes and they kiss once more. Then he takes a step back, moving the agent back in place.  
"Shall we get started?"

"Indeed we shall, 007," Q confirms.

*

Eve doesn't usually deliver files personally, but Q isn't particularly surprised that she would do so today.

He is in his office reviewing request forms when she finds him.

"You seem… okay," she says, putting the files on his desk and taking a seat.

Q gives her a rueful smile. "What? Did you expect he'd come here, pulling my pigtails and generally being a big, mean assassin?"

She crosses her arms. "Well, I almost considered the possibility that he didn't say anything at all, but your reaction just now tells me differently."

Q's grin grows, which on the other hand makes Eve's eyes widen.  
"I outfitted him, as befits a good quartermaster…" he begins.

"Oh, my god." Eve is nearly as good at reading people as Bond is, and of course she is already reading what is prominently written between the lines of what Q is actually saying.

"But only after I snogged him silly because he asked me on a date."

"He _didn't_!"

"He did."

Eve smiles widely at him for a long moment. "Look at you being all happy," she says, before her smile dims a bit. "Are you alright?"

Q of course understands what she is asking. "I'm a grown man and can make my own stupid decisions."

Eve looks very much like she wants it to not be a stupid decision. "Maybe it won't be."

Q sighs, but his smile is still there. "Maybe it won't be." He huffs a bit in amusement. "Either way, I will have kissed him."

Eve laughs. "My god, you're precious." Then she smirks mischievously smirks at him. "He's awfully good at it, isn't he?"

Q involuntarily licks his lips at the conjured memory, and then decides to return the cocky comment with one of his own.  
"I may have surprised him at first, but then, yes, he was."

"Cheeky. He'll like that."

"Well, it's what he's getting."

Eve laughs again, and he joins her.  
"Right then, boffin," she concludes their little meeting and stands. "Bring him home safely."

"Will do."

He always does.


	4. A Pleasure Shared

Q is jittery. In fact, he is so jittery that he has to admit to himself that his productivity is en par with everyone else’s and therefore completely unacceptable.

"I think I’m calling it a day," he says to himself, earning some surprised looks. Q frowns at his staff. "I don’t believe me leaving at the end of the official office time is cause for such shock..."  
When amused looks is all he gets as a reply, he grins back and stands, putting on his coat.  
"I trust you’ll let the nightshift know they’re not to blow up a lab?" he asks his second-in-command.

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you," he says and walks past everyone along the sides of the bull pen and towards the exit. "I have plans for tonight and do not wish to be disturbed for anything but an impending World War."

He can only just hear, "Since Bond is busy, a World War seems unlikely," before he’s out of hearing range and has to suppress a giggle. Well, at least his staff will have something gossip about to keep them in the office (and vaguely productive).

But now that he is alone with his thoughts again, his jitters feel it is their patriotic duty to ensure that they are felt in their entirety.

"I hope my wine’s good..." he muses as he makes his way home to change.

* * *

Bond is in his kitchen, preparing dinner. Bond not only knows how to dress to impress, make an entrance to impress, seduce to impress, and probably kill to impress; he also knows how to address other senses to impress. His cooking is as impressive as every other skill he has decided to hone to meet his own high standards.

Still, it’s not usually his practice to invite a dinner date to his own home, but Q already knows where he lives, and Bond thinks that they should probably have that talk that was hijacked by surprise and desire the last time he and Q were in the same room. And he quite likes the prospect of talking about anything he wishes without self-censorship or having to worry about being overheard.

Being with Madeline was a bit like that. He certainly never had to censor things about his job... but, eventually, he noticed that he was beginning to censor his darker thoughts, wanting to be what Madeline saw in him. Wanting to prove to himself that this person still existed inside of him.

He stirs his sauce more slowly as he loses himself in that thought, then he huffs and shakes his head. A different memory of a moment with Madeline takes its place; the memory of a sleepy, tipsy Madeline, saying, "There are two of you..."

He smiles a bit. He supposes that there _were_ two of him. Perhaps there still are. But he’s not so sure anymore that one of them has to be sacrificed for the sake of the other. He’s definitely not sure if he _could_ sacrifice one for the sake of the other.  
Q might... Q might understand.  
In fact, he is certain that Q _does_ understand, but he also knows that understanding something and living with it are two entirely different things. He doesn't doubt for a second that Madeline has at some point loved him, but love sometimes isn't enough.

Then he shakes off _that_ thought as well. Dinner first. After all, he doesn’t cook for just anyone, so it had better turn out to be a dinner good enough that he himself would like to be invited to it.  
Never mind that the desire he undeniably feels doesn’t mean that he is any more certain about what it is that draws him to Q or what exactly he wants from him. (Apart from the obvious.)  
He generally doesn't take anyone to bed who loves him, doesn't want to deal with the disappointment that he is subjecting such a partner to, doesn't want to risk returning love, anymore... and yet he could not resist Q. It would be almost frightening if Q wasn't such a reliable part of his life.

To his own surprise, he is quite taken with this uncertainty. He hopes Q will be able to enjoy it as well; he seems the type to enjoy a good puzzle.

Dinner’s not ready when Q arrives, but Bond has taken that into account, hoping to put Q at ease a bit when not all of Bond’s attention is on him. As far as possible, he wants to preserve their dynamic and not damage it with whatever might change today (or has already changed).

He keeps on his (professional, plain) apron (that for some reason goes well with trousers and a dress shirt with the top few buttons undone and sock-clad feet) and goes to open the door for a charmingly jittery Q.  
"Q."

Q goes from jittery to bemused. "You... don’t look like we are going out..." Q says, sounding unprepared, as if he has spent a lot of time imagining how the evening would go and is now realising that nothing is actually happening as he has imagined.

Bond smiles and steps to the side to let Q pass. "We aren't."

Q steps inside, tentatively daring a quick look around, as Bond gallantly helps him out of his coat. When he struggles with one arm, he remembers the gift he has brought.  
"Oh, yes," he says, once Bond has put away his coat. "Here."

Bond takes the offered bottle of wine and studies it. "Very nice. Would go well with dessert." He sends Q another smile before he leans in, cups his cheek, and kisses him gently, drinking Q's tiny sigh and enjoying the feel of the young man liquefying under his hand.  
He breaks the kiss and holds Q’s eyes with his for several heartbeats. "Thank you, Q."

"Thank you for the invitation," Q says dazedly and then smiles sweetly at him.

"Won’t you follow me to the kitchen?" Bond asks, walking ahead. "I know it's not exactly the standard location for a dinner date, but the food is not quite ready, and I had hoped that I would be more interesting company for you than the empty dinner table while you wait for every course."

The small kitchen table is already set for two; the plates aren't traditionally facing each other, but are instead next to each other around a corner.

"Have a seat," Bond invites him and returns to the stove. "Appetisers are in the oven and should be ready soon."

Q sits, and Bond can see out of the corner in his eye that he looks as if he expects the illusion to shatter any second now.

Bond pours them both a glass of Chardonnay and puts one in front of Q on the table.

Q blinks at him before he shakes off his distraction, takes the glass, and stands.

They clink their glasses and take a sip.

"Verdict?" Bond asks

"Excellent, of course."

Bond considers for a moment whether or not he should kiss Q again – and Q looks like he doesn’t know whether or not Bond will – but then Bond just smiles and returns to his cooking.

Q remains standing. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Bond smirks over his shoulder. "You can relax and let me convince you it was a good idea to come here, tonight."

Q sits with his glass, sips, and ruefully shakes his head. "I’m here; there’s no need to convince me of anything."

Bond covers his pot and reduces the heat. "Perhaps. Doesn’t mean you don’t still think it might turn out to be a bad idea." He turns to grin at Q.

Q smiles a bit. "I don’t think having the occasional bad idea is such a bad thing."

"No?"

"I’ve decided that you’re a bad idea worth having, James."

Bond chuckles, his eyes alight with mischief. "Now, there is a compliment." The oven beeps and distracts him. "Appetisers are ready," he explains and goes to retrieve them. He returns to the table and sits to Q’s left.

Q blinks but looks pleased with the closeness.

Bond thinks he could drown in those changeable eyes, and for a long moment, he allows himself to. He picks up one of the bite-sized, salmon-filled puff pastry and holds it up. "May I?"

"Am I to be given the full Bond treatment?" Q asks, smiling benignly and opening his mouth when Bond holds out the appetiser for him to try.  
His eyes fall closed as the exquisite taste explodes in his mouth, and when he opens his eyes again, Bond is chewing his own bite, looking self-satisfied.

"What do you think is the full Bond treatment?" Bond asks.

Q tilts his head and contemplates that. "I’m sure it can include many things, and I’d like to find out."

Bond feeds him again, and Q simply sighs and enjoys it.

"You really like this, don’t you?" Q asks, distractedly.

"Like what?"

"Pleasuring someone."

"Hm," Bond hums in agreement.

"Why do you think that is?" Q continues and dares to pick up his own next bite.

"I enjoy being able to give pleasure, to watch it unfold... but on occasion, some of it’s habit, I suppose," Bond admits after a moment, carefully reading Q’s expression, dreading it, but refusing to do anything but face it head-on. "Knowing that pleasure is the quickest way to get the truth out of people."

"That it is," Q agrees, not appearing at all upset, just listening carefully.

"But I don’t need to pry the truth from you, do I, Q?"

Q smiles.

"You never shy from telling me the truth when I ask for it," Bond states and pops another bite into his mouth.

"I thought we’d already established that I’m a rotten liar."

"Yes, but even a rotten liar could try to lie. I know for a fact that you have."

Q laughs. "With moderate effect."

Bond returns the laugh. "With no effect at all, I’m told."

"I can’t deny that."

"The point is that you never even try to lie to me."

"Leaving aside the fact that it would be ridiculous for me to try to lie to you, you’re right. I’ve never wanted do." He huffs, amused. "The first time I met you, I felt I had something to prove, and lies never prove anything. And after that... I never felt like I needed to lie. Not to you. And then... well." His smile is amused if a bit rueful again. "Your charms are hard to ignore, Mister Bond."  
He keeps his eyes firmly on Bond and takes the last piece of their starter, allowing his expression to show how very delicious he finds it.

"You enjoy being pleasured." Which is convenient, Bond thinks, as watching Q's pleasure is certainly very enjoyable. Perhaps there is a point to pleasure showing the truth... in both of them.  
A thought occurs to him. "But you like pleasuring others as well, don’t you?"

"Of course," Q admits readily, almost guilelessly seductive. "What about you then, James? Do you like being pleasured as much as pleasuring others? Or does that expose you too much?" It’s almost a dare; a tantalising dare.

An unbidden shiver runs down Bond’s back with the image of submitting his pleasure to Q.  
"I..." he begins and pauses when he realises that his voice has become hoarse from such a simple thought, "am suddenly very tempted to let you."

Q’s eyes widen momentarily before he shudderingly breathes out.

"But not before we finish dinner," Bond says, amused. "I don’t cook for just anyone."

Q releases a breathless chuckle. "This evening doesn’t go at all like I expected..."

Bond smirks, reading Q like the open book he is. "And are you enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely."

 

The rest of their dinner passes in much the same manner. Q notices that Bond may be flirting, teasing, and occasionally feeding Q a bite, but he very consciously doesn’t kiss him on the lips anymore. (Nibbling on fingers or brushing a finger over a cheek while feeding each other is fair game, apparently.)

Q is surprised that he can still taste what he’s eating, but the food is excellent and the overall experience is certainly memorable.

By the time dessert is on the table, however, Q isn’t sure he can hold himself back for much longer. It’s been a while since he’s been on a dinner date with such clear intentions. He’s had the occasional one-night stand, and before his rather tight work schedule, he’s even been on the odd traditional date. But a date with the single-minded intentions of a one-night stand? That is new. Then again, he and Bond have spent a lot of time leading up to this moment, even if one were to take into account that until quite recently, Q has never expected to end up in this situation.

Dessert is something obscenely chocolaty-looking, and Q is done waiting. As they have done before, he takes a spoonful out of Bond’s dessert bowl and holds it out for him.

Bond leans in and obediently opens his mouth to taste it, but when he is luxuriously rolling the treat on his tongue, Q snatches forward, takes a hold of the back of Bond’s head, and pulls him in for a deep kiss.

Q can feel Bond smirk into the kiss, but he’s too engaged in what is happening to care that Bond has apparently expected him to react like that sooner or later. Q just tastes the mixture of dessert and Bond and clears Bond’s mouth of every bit of chocolate he can find with his tongue before he breaks the kiss, breathing heavily.

"How’s dessert?" Bond asks him, sounding way too composed for Q’s liking.

Q picks up his spoon without another word and keeps his eyes on Bond as he takes a spoonful of his own bowl before claiming another kiss and letting Bond plunder his mouth for all of the creamy, rich chocolate.

"Dessert is excellent, if I do say so myself," is Bond’s verdict.

Q is breathing heavily and thinks that he should probably agree, but while before he has still been able to taste the food... now, his mind has been successfully narrowed down to one track, and one track only. He knows he is flushed, and his skin is buzzing. He is kissing Bond again before he even consciously registers that he has moved forward to do so.

He only becomes aware of his actions again when he stands without breaking the kiss and sits in Bond's lap, paying Bond back for his teasing with interest.

Bond seems to forget himself for a while there too, he moans into the kiss, and lets his hands wander over Q's back and lower, making Q draw in a sharp breath. Bond breaks the kiss, frames Q's face with both hands, licks and nips his lips, growling.  
"I don't know whether I should be pleased or insulted that you forgot about my dessert so quickly..." he says, teasingly brushing his lips over Q's and then kissing along his cheek to his ear and then down the side of his neck.

Q shudders when Bond's lips ghost over his pulse point and never thinks of answering the question. The first coherent thought he _does_ have is that he should take back some control, because the image that Bond's earlier words have invoked is now firmly back at the very front of his one-tracked mental processes.  
He wants to see _Bond_ come undone. It's not like he'd have a problem with submitting to the pleasure Bond can coax out of him, but, right now, there is a deeply seated need to show Bond the appreciation he has been burying for so long. Show him in great detail just how enticing and beautiful he finds him.

Q pushes back in the embrace enough to be able to look at Bond, and his breath catches at the unexpected but blatant tenderness he can see in those sharp eyes, almost as if Bond himself is startled by his reaction to Q.

Q takes a deep breath, both breathing in the situation and trying to calm his racing heart.  
"With all due respect to your cooking skills," he says, his voice breathy but carefully precise, "I think dessert can wait a couple of hours."

Bond captures his lips. "Agreed."

"Are you still tempted to let me pleasure you...?" Q manages to sound both disarming and seductive, usually more Bond's repertoire.

Bond smirks a bit. "I think by now I'm _determined_ to let you," he growls, his lips moving over Q's before he bites the chin.

Q slides out of Bond's lap, stands on barely functional legs and pulls Bond up with him.  
"Lead the way, then," he demands, and – given Bond's heated expression – his soon-to-be lover obviously doesn't mind being ordered about in such situations. At all.

Bond first removes his apron with a smirk and throws it in a corner. He takes Q's hand in his and kisses the knuckles. "This way..." he invites and leads Q through the flat by the hand.

Once inside the bedroom, they never even close the door; Q just unceremoniously peels Bond out of his shirt and vest, because, dammit, he's waited long enough.

Bond lets him have his way, returns the deep, exploring kisses and enjoys the efficient hands on his chest and shoulders. His own hands move up and down Q's side, not pushing or demanding, just reminding...  
"May I return the favour?" he breathes out when Q dizzily holds him close and buries his face in Bond's shoulder for a moment.

Q just nods, and before he knows it, his jacket is lying on the floor, Bond's strong and surprisingly diligent fingers removing his tie and shirt in record time.  
He impatiently takes off his own t-shirt he is wearing under the shirt and carelessly throws it towards the closest wall.

Bond pulls him into a kiss. "A work of art, you are," he tells him with such sincerity that Q can't but believe him. "A masterpiece."

Q shudders. "Enough distraction, James," he only just manages to utter, pushes Bond towards the bed and urges him to lie down.

Bond remains silent for long enough so Q can finish undressing him and leaving him splayed bare and unguarded for his quartermaster.  
As clearly as he is unused to that type of treatment, as obviously is he enjoying it.  
Unselfconscious and immodest, Bond moves one hand under the back of his head, one leg angled at the knee and both slightly spread. And more than a little aroused.  
"Return the favour?" he asks again, huskily.

Q is startled from his scrutinising the tableau presented before him and smiles wryly. "I wouldn't want to force you from your repose..." he tells him and finishes undressing himself, fully aware of Bond's eyes never leaving him.  
Once he is fully naked, he slowly and intently makes his way towards Bond and onto the bed where he climbs between his legs and on top of him and moves into a kiss, all of which he does in one, single, fluid motion.

Bond sighs into the kiss, arching towards the warm body on his and sinking into the mattress at the same time.

And Q makes good on his promise. For the longest time, he just kisses Bond, enjoying the feel of skin on skin, the smell of expensive aftershave, the tenseness of muscles loosening... then the taste of clean skin that his fingers have already explored, as he wanders downwards, licking and biting.

Bond gasps when Q licks and then nips a nipple, making Q grin around the hardening nub.  
"Sensitive here?" he asks.

"Yes," Bond admits readily with no hesitation but a breathy laugh instead. "So be careful, you cellar-dwelling, bitey genius."

Q – heeding the request but wanting to tease a bit anyway – carefully scrapes his teeth over the nipple he's been tending to with his mouth, delighted at the reaction he's getting.

Bond buries his hands in Q's riotous hair, growling deep in his chest. "That's it..."

Q moves to the other side, enjoying his treat with teeth and tongue until it is glistening wet and flushed pink. He kisses it again before moving lower.

As Q does so, Bond reaches for his glasses with both hands. "You won't be needing those to find your target," he says playfully, putting them on the bedside table with the kind of care Q wished he'd grace his equipment with.

Q laughs into Bond's stomach at the silly line and feels the answering chuckle bounce against his nose.  
Without further ado, he slides down to face his _'target'_ and teasingly runs a finger along its length. "Such a lovely thing," he praises and presses a soft kiss to its side. "But not what is first on my agenda," he adds, with no small amount of fake regret. Bond's prick is granted another kiss, before Q pulls at Bond's hip.  
"Turn around for me, James."

Bond follows the instruction, and Q hums in approval.

"Now _this_... holds what the bespoke trousers promise," Q says, approvingly and runs both hands over Bond's buttocks before he grabs one in each hand. "A national treasure, I assure you."

Bond chuckles roughly and can't help himself, he has to arch said treasure a bit for Q's benefit. "Worth the effort?"

"Hmm..." Q agrees, leans down, kisses one cheek before he bites it. "The hours upon hours of work that undoubtedly go into the maintenance of your body are most certainly worth it."  
Q parts the cheeks with both hands and lightly blows into the cleft, smirking when he can hear Bond's breath catch and letting his tongue follow.

Bond groans loudly, his whole body responding in one way or other. "Jesus, Q, you don't have..." He can't finish the sentence.

"I assure you that I want to."

Bond, dizzy and relaxed and painfully aroused, doesn't attempt to speak again, and the last coherent thought leaves through his arse when Q goes back to work, breaching him his with his tongue, sucking and biting at the rim, his hands continuously massaging the well-toned muscles.

"I want to devour you," Q says, probably more to himself than Bond.

Bond replies anyway. "You are," he manages to say with a joyful, breathy laugh.

Q licks over the hole again, leans back a bit to watch both his thumbs toy at the rim, breach Bond in the tongue's stead; he shudders as he watches the muscles constrict around the intrusive digits. His eyes are glassy with want, and he pushes both thumbs deeper, revelling in Bond's guarded squirming and gasping moans.  
"I want to fuck you," he murmurs. "I want to bury myself in you, _claim_ you..." he pushes the thumbs in as far as they will go, "... give you pleasure as I take mine."

Bond honest-to-god whimpers at that before he catches himself and pushes his arse back towards Q.  
"Whatever you want. It's yours."

A sad little smile passes Q's expression and is soon replaced with burning want. "Lube, James?"

Bond waves at the bedside table with one, uncoordinated hand. "In there. Condoms."

"Of course," Q agrees, slowly and teasingly withdraws his thumbs, licks over the loosened entrance once more, and goes to retrieve the lube and condoms as instructed.

He is in no hurry once he's back in position, however. He coats the fingers of one hand in lube and teases them over James' hole, easily urging three inside with next to no resistance, moving his face close enough that he can still see every minute detail without his glasses. The way the muscles welcome him, the way the ring is now invitingly glistening with lube, the way the skin moves along the rim with every slow thrust inside. Then there are the tiny noises Bond is making and the even tinier slick sounds of Q's fingers moving in and out of that fuckable arse.

It doesn't take as long as he would have liked before he can hardly hold himself back anymore.  
"Ready for me, James?"

"When you are..." is all Bond says, his eyes closed, his hands clasping the pillow, his hair spiky and his back shiny with sweat.

Q's breath catches painfully in his throat. He doesn't ever want to forget this moment. Not for as long as he lives.  
"Turn around for me again," he whispers, and Bond complies. As Bond does what Q has asked, Q unwraps a condom and puts it on, making Bond grin widely and lie on his back with his legs spread open and welcoming.

Bond's wide grin turns soft when Q moves over him, holding Bond's hip in position with one hand and his cock with the other.

Q nudges Bond's hole with his cock, pushing without breaching, and leans down for a sweet and tender kiss before he pushes forward with torturously diligent care.

"God, Q..." Bond breathes into the kiss.

"Worth the wait," Q answers, trying hard not to let emotions overwhelm him. Being in bed with Bond is so much more than he could have hoped.

Bond brings him back to the here and now with a nip to his lips. "Take me now," he demands, sincerely, and Q begins to move. "Yes..." Bond's head falls back onto the pillow, his eyes flutter closed, and he allows himself to savour being pleasured with mindless joy and voiceless moans.

Q slowly begins to move faster, feeling the tight, silky muscles sheath his cock, draw him in, squeeze and caress him.  
He has fucked before; he has been fucked before. And none of it holds a candle to being with Bond. He doesn't know if it's because he's wanted him for so long, or if this is simply how James Bond fits him. It is excruciatingly beautiful.

They breathe each other's air as Q fucks him, Q desperately trying to memorise every second. He also vaguely remembers yet another reason that should have reasonably kept him from taking Bond to bed. Namely, that he would have his heart broken so much more thoroughly if he ever gives in to him. And yet he knows that it will always have been worth it.

When Bond's moans and breathing pick up pace, Q uses one hand to pay more attention to the lovely prick brushing along his stomach. His other hand entwines its fingers with the ones of Bond's hand that isn't holding onto Q's hair.

"Make me come," Bond gasps against Q's lips, "please, darling, make me come, _milk_ me..."

Q loses vision for a second, working his hand over Bond's hot and painfully hard prick, coaxing it to...

"Yes! Q! Yes!" Bond's head falls back, his throat taut, his powerful body twitching helplessly.

Q can't hold back a sob, snaps his hips forward for several more, stuttering, imprecise, and passionate thrusts, before he collapses onto his agent, spent, physically and emotionally.

 

When Q opens his eyes again, Bond is softly caressing Q's back with one hand while the other is brushing a finger along the wet streaks on Q's cheek. Q only then realises that he must have been crying.

Bond smiles at him gently when he sees the realisation dawning, then he cups Q's face to pull him into a warm and almost loving kiss.  
"Thank you," he murmurs, lowly and just for Q. "That was beautiful."

Q holds back more tears and just kisses him again. Then he smiles at him. "It was."  
He moves off Bond and clumsily clears his throat. "Bathroom?"

Bond grins and tilts his head to the side. "Through there. Adjoined."

"Right," Q says, composing himself. "Don't move. I'll get something to clean you up."

Bond chortles at him cheerfully. "Not sure at all I _can_ move, right now."

Q laughs and puts on his glasses, a lightness finally returning to him that shouldn't have left in the first place, he decides, and he goes hunting for a wet flannel or something.

In the bathroom, he still takes a moment to dispose of the condom, wash up, and splash his face a bit. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is almost surprised that he can't make out any visible changes at all. He feels like he should at least have spouted wings to mark the momentous occasion.  
Then he chuckles, shakes his head at himself, and brings Bond his flannel.

He seats himself next to Bond on the bed, cleans his come-streaked stomach and then urges him to spread his legs so he can clean his tender hole of sticky lube.

"So very assiduous, my Quartermaster..."

It makes Q giggle, and he retaliates by throwing the flannel at Bond's face.

Bond takes it off and studies it with an amused glint in his eyes. "Well, that was mildly disgusting," he says and throws it onto the floor.

With a quick movement, Bond pulls Q down to lie beside him, takes off his glasses, and then holds him close.  
His hands comb through Q's hair, brush over his face, and run along his side and back again.

Q thinks the tender look in Bond's eyes is going to be death of him or at the very least shred his heart, but he decides that his heart doesn't get a say anymore. It has led him here, after all.

 

They _do_ forget about their dessert, but Q stays the night, so they share it for breakfast.


	5. Snowball

Bond comes awake slowly, which is unusual. His training doesn't allow for a lot of time to regain alertness. The fact that it does now implicates that his subconscious feels... safe.

The warm body in his arms reminds him why that might be and makes him smile.

He opens his eyes and first sees Q's mop of hair, and he has to tilt his head to see the sleeping face of his new lover who has instinctively wrapped himself around Bond during the night.

Bond relaxes again and avoids any sudden movements to not wake Q. My... but he is a lovely creature, and Bond still doesn't know why someone like Q would ever come to feel love for the jaded likes of him. Gently, he lays a hand on Q's head and his lips against his forehead, without actually playing with the dark hair or kissing the warm skin; he just soaks up what Q gives him even while asleep.

Bond is no stranger to love, but it doesn't tend to treat him well. Love may always save him, but it also leaves him the sole survivor. 

As he now knows, it took the love of two people to pry him from Blofeld's clutches. Nobody has ever confirmed it to him, and he hasn't asked, but he has the hunch that Q was not ordered to add Q-Branch's very own brand of alarm to his watch, but that it was Q himself who did not want to let Bond leave without at least an emergency strategy. Come to think of it, the way in which Q let him know that he's installed something extra might have been designed to not have Tanner overhear (or at least not explicitly let him know... Tanner is no fool, after all, but he is willing to occasionally look and listen in the other direction).

Bond remembers how it felt to hold the watch, feeling so loved by Madeline. And now that Madeline has learned that love is not always enough, this knowledge might as well be what let her escape the cold hand of death hovering over Bond's shoulder.

Q sighs a bit in his arms, and Bond's heart constricts. _'Not Q. Don't take Q.'_ But as he moves his hand that has unnoticed by him started caressing Q's hair, he can hear the soft, nearly inaudible _tick tick tick_ of his new watch, and he vows that he will keep Q as safe as Q keeps him.

Perhaps he can just experience love from Q, and Bond's affection and admiration for this beautiful young man will be enough. He certainly has a lot of both.

Bond is not a superstitious man, and he is willing to bet his life on it. As Q slowly comes awake, however, he's willing to consider that he might not be ready to bet _Q's_ life on it...

But whether or not he believes in the Bond curse that takes everyone he ever loves from him (his parents, his foster father, Vesper, M... even Madeline, though it wasn't death who claimed her), the deed is done. He has taken Q to bed, has chosen to take the risk, and there is no turning back.  
Certainly, he could let things be done after this one night together. He could say that it was the best for their careers, for the job itself, their professional distance. That it was the best for Q.  
He knows that Q would probably understand, perhaps even expect such a thing... but that wouldn't change the fact that in the end, it would be Bond taking a decision from Q that wasn't Bond's to make.

Bond's (justified) anxiety of losing another person close to him does not give him the right to decide on their behalf.  
They have both considered the – admittedly considerable – risks, and they have jointly decided to take them. Bond respects Q too much to ignore the young man's free will just because he himself deems his own fears more important.

 _'A bad idea worth having'..._ If Bond does turn out to be a bad idea, he wants to make damn sure that he was worth it to Q.

Bond smiles when he can feel Q's eyelashes tickle his collar bone when he slowly blinks awake.

"Good morning, Q," he says softly.

Q sighs deeply and stretches a bit without having to move away too much. Then he tilts his head and returns the smile, though a bit haltingly.  
"Good morning."

Bond drinks in the changeable eyes, the sleep-rumpled hair, and the tempting curve of lips...  
"You're a sight to behold," he tells him and chuckles when Q turns his face into the curve of Bond's neck.

"It's too early for this," Q complains.

Bond kisses his forehead and lets his hands gently roam. "Never too early to pay you a compliment."

Q silently laughs with him, but his shoulders shake. Then he gives up, props his head on a hand, and grins at Bond.

Bond contemplates asking him if his expectations have been met, but decides not to. The emotions are so clearly written in Q's expression that anyone could see that _expectations_ have nothing to do with why Q is here.  
"So beautiful," is what he says instead and pulls Q down into a sweet kiss before he urges him to lay his head on his chest again.

Bond can pinpoint the exact moment Q wakes up enough for the situation to really sink in; the fact that something he has hardly ever allowed himself to think about is now reality.  
He can feel Q tense and his throat make swallowing motions as if he was fighting tears, but he doesn't know if the emotions palpably coursing through Q are entirely happy ones, so he wordlessly tightens his hold.  
"It's alright, darling," he says after some of the tension has left Q again.

Q nods but keeps his face hidden, then he kisses Bond's neck. "More than alright." He sounds like it is possibly a bit too much more than alright, but he is also smiling again and then huffing a little chuckle.

Bond smiles. Mostly (if probably not entirely) good ones, then. "And I do believe..." he starts, slowly, musingly, before he swiftly switches their positions, moving over Q and settling between his legs, "... that it's my turn," he finishes with a growl.

Q's eyes first widen at the sudden change, but then his breath catches and he melts into the moment.  
"God, yes."

As Bond sets out to pleasure his lover, he begins to realise that he's been waiting for this moment for a lot longer than he's previously been aware of. He knows that whenever someone physically appeals to him, his instinctive reaction is to mentally strip them of clothes and inhibitions. It happens rarely enough with men – oh, he's had his fair share of male lovers, and he tends to find the experience satisfying enough – but as far as appearance at first glance with men goes, Q may not be the only exception, but he is one of only a few and certainly the most memorable one. And now Q is here, after a night of shared passion, complying with an image Bond didn't even know he's had.

Q responds to Bond preparing his body willingly, openly, and Bond can read the truth in the young man's pleasure as easily as he can feel his own. He briefly wonders if Q can read truth in Bond's pleasure as well, as Q has jokingly implied the night before. And he wonders what that truth may be.

Bond doesn't tease Q for very long. From the way Q arches his hips against him and desperately kisses him, his longing to be joined as intimately as they can be is the only truth that matters anymore, and Bond has to admit that he is not unaffected by that pull, either.  
He prepares himself and then keeps his eyes firmly on Q as he gently cradles Q's hips in position with one arm and enters him.

Bond doesn't remember when the last time was that he's had such a responsive lover. Q's body _sings_ under his, and for a while, he forgets that _Bond's_ the one who's had the intention to focus entirely on Q's pleasure today... Bond is still not consciously aware that the line between receiving and giving pleasure has increasingly blurred between them from the beginning. 

Which is another thing Bond is not at all used to. For him, giving pleasure more often than not means that something is expected in return or something has already been given to him and needs to be compensated. Even when no such unspoken deals are in the air, Bond always takes care that he gives what he knows is most effective to the best of his abilities.

In Q's arms, he doesn't even remember these abilities; all that matters is instinct.

All of these revelations he remains entirely unaware of, and when Q reaches his earth-shattering orgasm, Bond follows with blinding abandon.

"What you do to me..." Bond says when he can feel his heartbeat slow gradually, not knowing the truth of the statement.

Q laughs a light and musical little laugh and holds Bond close with strong, slender arms.  
"Only fair," he informs Bond.

Bond chuckles into Q's neck before he raises his head with a big grin, props himself up on his elbows, and runs both his hands through Q's sweaty locks before he cradles his head and kisses him deeply.  
He can't but agree.

  


In the following weeks, Q is surprised to realise that his focus doesn't need any additional work, despite his initial worries that giving in to temptation could break the dam that has so far managed to contain his feelings. What he observes instead is said feelings settle comfortably in his heart.

He hasn't seen much of Bond since their night and morning together, because Bond's been whisked away for another mission, and Q's been busy with the development of a new line of weapons.

Sometimes, Q thinks he can still feel his lips tingle from the kiss he has pressed on Bond's lips just before leaving his apartment and after thanking him for the date. And though Bond's reply, "See you at the office, dear," has long since been replaced with other – slightly more professional – banter on both their parts, he occasionally allows himself to examine the memory when he has a minute.

Overall, a tension has left him that he hadn't been aware of, and he has been able to dive into work with the cheerful determination intrinsic to his personality without the distraction of unfairly attractive double-ohs.

But that doesn't stop a tingle from coursing through him when he's the only remaining person on the comm to Bond, and Bond says, quite innocently, "The Italian food here is abysmal. Remind me to take you out to my favourite restaurant when I get home."

Q quickly turns around to make sure that he is truly alone in the lab before he answers. "I feel like I should return the favour and cook for you, but I am sadly entirely lacking in talent in that area."

Bond hums in his ear, clearly amused. "I am sure we can come to an agreement."

Q smiles to himself. "Aren't you supposed to be doing reconnaissance?"

"I am, but nothing is bloody happening," Bond tells him. "You'd know that, if you'd been around more..."

Q's smile widens at the petulance. "Really, Bond, my involvement was hardly necessary, and you'll be very pleased with the newest results from our R and D department."

Bond's voice audibly perks up. "Is it something I can test in the field?"

"Perhaps," Q allows, "after you apologise for implying that I don't know what is happening to my agents in the field when I'm not at the comm..."

Bond chuckles. "Dearest Q, I apologise profusely for implying that you run anything but an incredibly tight ship."

"Your manners are impeccable when you want something." He waits for an another reply; when he doesn't get one, his smile turns into a small frown. "Bond?"

"Activity," is all Bond says, clearly distracted.

Q turns on his screens to have eyes in addition to his ears and watches Bond's immediate surroundings.  
"I see them. I'm getting four." He blinks. "Six. Two more approaching around the corner, your three o'clock."

Bond doesn't answer; Q can only just make out his breathing, and he's sure that this is because of the quality of his comm device and that he wouldn't hear a thing if he was right next to the agent in the field.

Automatically, Q lowers his voice. "I'm activating transmission for your directional microphone," he informs Bond, and then the voices of the people Bond is watching are filling the empty room.

Q records the words and cross-references what is being said with the information he already has in his database. Nothing unexpected, and just what Bond needs. Q grins, satisfied. That is, until he hears something he very much didn't expect.

His eyes widen as he listens, and he frantically starts typing. He must assume that Bond is similarly affected (in one way or another) and confirms Bond's unspoken question, "I'm checking now." He seriously hopes that the plan he is hearing has not yet come to fruition.  
While he waits for the information to load, he calls for his Branch's backup.

"I have confirmed visual," Q breathes out, relieved, as he can see the security camera image. "He is still in his cell. I am now verifying the time stamp," he adds the last bit because though Bond remains silent, he is probably asking just that question. With no small amount of satisfaction, he unconsciously squares his shoulders.  
"It's the surveillance I personally installed, and Blofeld is definitely still in his cell at this point."

"Thank you, Q," Bond says, and then, of course, all hell breaks loose, which is par for the course but also somewhat vexing, seeing as that means that there is nobody left to question about what appears to be a plot to break out the head of SPECTRE.

Once things quiet down, Bond – breathing harshly and sounding as cool as a cucumber – says, "Well, that was only a matter of time."

Q pinches the bridge of his nose, his people by now bustling around him. "You should have just killed him."

Bond is silent for too long for Q to not notice the pause. "Yes," is all he says.

Q is about to ask what the matter is, but Bond's odd voice is back to normal and lets Q know that he will be home by this time the next day, and that he doesn't expect another delay, now that he has the information he needs (with the additional information he wishes he'd never got). This leaves Q most of the rest of the night to deal with the aftermath of Bond's mission.

 

It is only later, when Q is in his flat on the evening of the next day and the moment replays in his mind, that it dawns on him that not killing Blofeld must have been Bond's attempt at a different life. And here Q goes, telling Bond that... it shouldn't have been.

One of his cats – the more social one – climbs into his lap, and Q raises an eyebrow at her. "Do you think I fucked up, Ada?"

Ada gives him an unimpressed look.

Q huffs, amused. "No, you're right, I probably didn't. But he is more brittle than you'd expect of an assassin." Q keeps petting the countess, allowing his thoughts to wander. Q has always been fully aware that Bond's surface isn't all there is to him. But the first time he has noticed that the agent's emotions might run much deeper than even the closeted romantic in Q could imagine, he has for a full two weeks just assumed that this must be his infatuation making him see some soft core to the lethal shell. Then he, very slowly, realised that there indeed are two sides to Bond, and neither is less prominent than the other. It took a while for Q to understand that – despite the contrary nature of these aspects – Bond has managed to unite them in ways that do not seem plausible for an outside observer (and indeed to Bond himself, most likely).

Incidentally, that was also the moment Q realised that he is hopelessly in love with one James Bond.  
Q had of course been aware of Bond's reputation before he met him. He'd been in Q-Branch before Bond's supposed death and had been exposed to the myth that was 007 on a regular basis. The first meeting was accordingly accompanied by a not insignificant amount of awe, even if Bond hadn't exactly been in top shape. Bond was everything Q had come to expect of him, including what M liked to refer to as _'questionable charms'_. Those charms are enough to develop a hefty crush, but Q had not expected to learn things about Bond that would come to mean so much more to him.

Like trust. Respect. Genuine affection. And humour (however inappropriate it may be).

Q is smiling and continues to absently pet a purring Ada.  
"He truly is terrible," he says, not meaning a single word, his smile widening. Ada ignores the words and only arches into Q's hands. "Terribly amazing."  
Q decides that Ada's answering purr is one of agreement.

When he hears the other infernal feline meow at the front door, he frowns and sits up from his half slouch on the sofa.

"Sofia?"

When Sofia only answers with another, more insistent, meow, Q groans and stands, setting Ada on the cushions.  
"Oh, what is it?" Q demands, rubbing his eyes. "The door is not going to open if you complain at it..."

Q actually flinches when the doorbell rings. "Jesus," he murmurs and checks the image from the security cameras in the hallway and the ones outside the building. Not that he actually looks at any other images than the one of Bond less than two metres away from where Q is standing.

He opens the door, wide-eyed. "Bond?"

Before Bond can reply, Ada speeds away to hide around the next corner from where she'd followed Q, making Q almost trip over her, while Sofia merely eyes Bond sceptically.

Bond raises an eyebrow. "Good evening, Q."

Q steps aside to let Bond enter. "You're early. Have you debriefed, yet?" He takes Bond's coat.

Bond looks at Q in about the same way he's just looked at the cat; that is to say, slightly sardonically. "Yes, my assiduous quartermaster."

"Have you eaten? Are you hungry?" Q knows he's rambling, but Bond has rather caught him unawares, and now he doesn't quite know what to do with the situation. "I'm not much of a cook, but there's some bread and cheese..." He feels ridiculous, offering Bond bread and cheese, especially after their dinner date about three weeks ago.

But Bond just smiles that small curl of lips at him. "I really only came here for company, but I could go for some bread and cheese."

Q remains standing for a brief moment and then remembers that he's still holding Bond's coat and puts it away. " _Company_?"

Bond's curled lips are joined by a tilted head. "Frankly, Q, I'm exhausted. I don't think I'd be up to my usual standards."

Q is surprised by the warmth that is spreading, unbidden and unexpected. Unsurprisingly, he'd be more than willing to have another round of extremely satisfying sex, but the thought of Bond seeking him out without that in mind is a good one.  
"Company it is," he says. "Won't you follow me to the kitchen?" This time, it's Q's lips that are curling. "We seem to find ourselves in the kitchen quite often." It's terribly domestic of them, he finds, and ushers Bond inside. "Have a seat."

Bond does as he's asked, and Q fetches the bread and cheese and puts them in front of him. "Thank you."

Q hunts down an open bottle of red and joins Bond with two glasses. "Might as well..." He fills both glasses and they clink them.  
Q lets Bond eat in silence. It appears that he is only in need of company, not a confession.

Bond comfortably eats until he feels one of Q's cats brush around his legs and looks down.

Q chuckles at Bond's befuddled expression. "That's Sofia. Ada's terrified of you."

"I'm not particularly good with animals..."

This time, Q laughs outright. "No need to worry. She'll let you know when she's displeased."

"No doubt."

Q waits for Bond to finish his snack before he asks, "How did the rest of the mission go?" He knows that nothing out of the ordinary has happened, or he would have heard of it. But there must be a reason for Bond's need for company.

"You'll have the report waiting for you, I'm sure." He finishes his wine. "And I needed to ask something of you," he adds, clearly aware of why Q is asking.

"Yes?"

Bond turns serious and hard eyes on Q. "I need you to delete all electronic traces of that... conflict of interest form you filed. Just in case Blofeld does get out. He mustn't ever find a hint of it."

Q crosses his arms. "Leaving aside the fact that this form only mentions my own emotional compromise and says nothing of the night we spent together..."

"He would tell me!" Bond interrupts. "He would go after you, kill you, and then tell me it was because you love me!"

Q lays one hand on top of one of Bond's fists that are clenched on the table. "James," he says, calmly. "As I was going to say. I deleted those files the moment I realised you'd hacked into them, and I double-checked if there was anyone else who'd accessed them. It was only you."

Bond relaxes.

"There is only one remaining hard copy of that particular file, and it's in M's desk."

Bond breathes out, pulls back his hand, and leans back in his seat. "I'm being a fool," he says, slight amusement glinting in his eyes.

"A bit," Q agrees. "I did say I had no intention of letting a kidnapping ever take place."

"And you're good at your job."

"I'm excellent at my job." With that, Q stands and holds out his hand. "Come on, I'm sure I have a spare toothbrush you can use. Perhaps even a towel if I put my back into it."

Bond grins at him and takes his hand to be led to the bathroom.

They don't talk any more that night, and Q doesn't ask about what has happened on the mission that made Bond seek company the moment the job was done. But they do kiss, and Bond can now easily acknowledge that he has wanted to do this very much since the first time he has seen Q in his own bed. They kiss and kiss and use their hands to lazily coax each other to orgasm before falling asleep.

*

Bond wakes up first, Q still tucked against his side. And now that he's slept off most of his exhaustion, he is clear-headed enough to realise that it isn't very like him to seek company as he has done hours earlier. At least not in the way he has done it. Usually, when he returns from a mission, he either drinks himself unconscious, isn't approachable for a few days, or finds a good lay. Possibly all three in some order or connection.

This time, he'd just felt like not being alone. Certainly, a mutual hand job is always enjoyable, but he would have been fine with just eating Q's bread and cheese and fall asleep with the warmth of a companion next to him.

It's not like Bond needed to tell Q about the file he had to delete face to face; he could have just let him know in some other way. No, it must have been something else.

And when he doesn't keep himself from thinking about it, he knows what it is, too.

 _'You should have just killed him,'_ Q's voice still rings in his ear. 

Yes, he should have. But he also remembers why he didn't. It had felt so odd, standing between M and Madeline. Work and love. Perhaps even darkness and light, if he wants to be particularly philosophical.  
In that one moment, the life and death of his erstwhile brother seemed to be the metaphorical button you can choose to push or leave be.

In retrospect, it was rather stupid of him. After all, he has needlessly endangered Madeline – again – by letting Blofeld live. But then it still took him quite some time to realise that, though the decision on the bridge may have implied it, Bond himself is not as black and white as all that.

And neither is Q.

"Thinking again, James?"

Bond grins. "You brought me into an unusual enough situation that I can't seem to help myself."

Even only half awake, that makes Q laugh.

Bond runs his hands luxuriously over Q's back. "You make for a _delightful_ bed companion..."

Q raises his head and predatorily grins at Bond with a glint in his eyes that is slowly gaining heat. Then he proceeds to show Bond in great detail just how delightful a bed companion he is.


	6. Avalanche

Bond is constantly on the edge after that. He knows that Q is keeping an eye out for Blofeld and has done so from the beginning (he also has the suspicion that Q has increased surveillance), but there is no doubt in his mind that there are other members of the scattered SPECTRE that have either the same objective or were even part of the same plan to break out Blofeld as the people Bond has taken out.  
He doesn't constantly think about it, but whenever he has time instead of targets to kill, the thought is a niggling sensation in the back of his mind.

Aside from the weary waiting for the other shoe to drop, Bond's life is... manageable. He regularly faces terrorists, drug lords, spies, and mobsters of all kinds of nationalities; he defies death at every corner while he dishes it out for everyone else; he still uses _all_ of his considerable skills to get the information he needs and get to the people he is sent to target; he ignores orders and somehow manages to come out as the victor, anyway; and he actually has something to come home to, these days.

Not that Q is home much more than Bond is, being the same type of workaholic, but Bond's... _thing_ with Q... is a good thing.

It might even have something to do with why Bond is not as on the edge as he could be. For one, being so close to Q, he always gets the latest confirmation that Blofeld is exactly where he is supposed to be. For another, the usual time during which Bond's mind tends to run in darker and darker loops is his time between missions, and that time is not as bleak and empty as it used to be.

 

That is also the thought at the forefront of his mind when his focus should ideally be on a different person. He is with a mark, or, rather, with the girlfriend of a target who seems only too willing to betray her criminal boyfriend if Bond offers a better alternative for the night in addition to some papers to disappear.

She is just the right amount of frightened and strong, in need of reassurance and aware of her own worth, forward and bashful. It makes Bond immediately suspicious, but he doesn't see another efficient way to get in her good graces but to... combine forces, as it were.

Bond has shared his body and a strange bed on several occasions where it has felt more like a duty or chore than a pleasure, certainly. With the vast number and questionable type of people he encounters in the field, it is more than likely that not everyone's to his taste, but that has never been a problem. He can find beauty in almost any body. It's just that, recently, he perhaps hasn't sought out a bed companion with the same vigour as his reputation would suggest. He supposes it has something to do with the companion warming his bed in London.

But even though he may not always be in the mood when he has to... perform, this is the first time he remembers that he mentally has to talk himself into it.

She is beautiful, smart, just his type, and incredibly responsive. 

Bond should know better. He does know better. After all, his instinct is more often than not impeccable, even though he truly wishes that he had been wrong when – after being with her – her expression changes and she points a gun at Bond's head before the sheets have cooled from their sweat. Bond reacts without thinking, the woman no match for a trained assassin who can literally kill people one second after waking up in the morning if necessary. It is a disturbingly short matter. It is over before Bond can form a coherent thought. The whole encounter seems surreal, from Bond's tender thoughts of Q while he was with her, his suspicion, the physical joining, and the killing.

Then afterwards, when she lies in the bloody, white satin in which they have tumbled around less than five minutes earlier, Bond feels sick.

It takes him several seconds before he can reply to the frantic voice in his ear.

"Here, Q."

"What the hell is going on over there?!" Q demands, clearly not having expected post-coital gunshots. (Not this time, anyway. It's not like it's never happened before, but usually there's more of a warning.)

Q's voice grounds Bond, he can breathe a little easier, and the anger is slowly surfacing after the initial shock.  
"I guess she wasn't as keen on helping us as we thought."

Q pauses. "She... she's dead?"

In a fit of... something, Bond covers the body with a sheet. "Yes."

Again, Q is quiet for some time. "Are you alright?"

Bond huffs and is about to wave off any concerns. "I've had better days," is what comes out of his mouth, instead. Then he purposefully turns away and gets dressed.  
"No matter. We need to find out if her boyfriend is even involved or if it was her all along."

Q's hesitation is much shorter, this time. "Did she bring a phone?"

Bond hunts it down and finds it in her bag. "Yes." He turns it on. "It's locked..." As he says it, the phone unlocks itself.

"Not anymore."

Bond can't help himself. He has to grin. "What would I do without you," he asks, rhetorically.

"Let's not find out, shall we."

Bond listens to Q's typing and finishes getting dressed.

"Bond," Q says, suddenly when the typing stops. "You need to leave, _now_. Take the phone."

Bond doesn't think twice, he just grabs his gun and the phone and is off.

"I'm counting a dozen armed bodyguards heading your way from several directions," Q explains as Bond runs along the still empty corridor. "I'm afraid you'd be quite outnumbered at this point."

"Guide me out?"

"Of course."

"The boyfriend is involved then?" He hears Q conferring with someone in the background.

"From the information on her phone, yes. Take the stairway to the left."

Bond goes left.

"So I'm sorry to say the job's not done yet."

Bond can't say that he minds being kept busy for a while longer.

* * *

When Q comes home, he thinks it's possible that Bond might be there, but he's still pleasantly surprised when he finds his agent sitting on the couch, Sofia in his lap, Ada a safe distance away with suspicious eyes.

Bond smiles at him when Q takes off his coat.

"Hello, James."

"Q," Bond greets in return.

The soft voice makes Q return the smile, though a bit hesitantly. It is sometimes tricky to predict or read Bond's moods when he returns from a mission. The softness seems real enough to Q, though.

Bond's expression remains warm, and he sighs. "I should have listened to my instinct that said that something was wrong with her," he says, his voice only just loud enough for Q to hear the words (and largely due to Q having expected something like that).

"Hardly your fault," Q says, walking closer, careful not to step on Ada who is seeking refuge between his feet.

Bond keeps his demeanour carefully neutral and avoids looking at Q. "At first I just thought I didn't want to sleep with her because I'd rather sleep with you..." He huffs a bit, amused, and raises his head to catch Q's eyes. "You're awfully distracting."

Q freezes, but before the intruding thought can even take form that this is Bond's way of ending their arrangement, Bond continues.

"Relax. I'm not breaking up with you." Then he startles at his own words and chuckles. "Listen to me," he says ruefully, "I don't think I've used these words in... I don't think I've ever used them, actually."

He looks at Q with a self-deprecating little smile.

Q remains frozen in place, trying to tell his heart to bloody stop thumping like the idiot organ it is.

Bond's lip twitches in an amused grin. "Do you really think you'd be less distracting if I wasn't sleeping with you?"

The breath Q is finally releasing comes out as a laugh. "I know _you_ wouldn't be."

They both stay where they are, unmoving but smiling slightly, both understanding that they are as caught in this as each other.  
Q tilts his head in what he hopes is an encouraging gesture when he can see Bond arranging words for something else to say.

"Are you never jealous?" Bond addresses the elephant in the room that is apparently now tired of being ignored. It has been there for long enough, after all, even if neither of them has ever acknowledged that there is a reason for there to even be an elephant. Things are as they are; their work is what it is; and they are both dedicated to it.  
"Of the marks I take to bed?"

Q thinks that there is probably something horribly wrong with him that this only makes Bond seem more... loveable, really. He bites back the benign grin that threatens to burst out and saunters towards the couch.  
"Hm, well..." he says, musingly – noting with satisfaction that Bond reads him well enough to relocate Sofia to the couch next to him – and moves to climb into Bond's lap. "Are you never jealous of the cars I make for other agents?" He finishes his sentence with his lips only a breath from Bond's.

" _Yes_ ," Bond growls, unsurprisingly, making Q grin and then kiss him, deeply. Bond reinforces his claim with his tongue, lapping, licking, _possessing_ , hungrily, before he finally ends the kiss with a parting lick to Q's lips. "I'm known to steal one of them on occasion."

Q laughs into the next kiss before he loses himself in it for a long, tender while. His analogy is a good one, he thinks. Q is no more jealous of Bond's marks than Bond is jealous of other agents receiving professional attention from Q for their missions.

Bond slows the kiss once more and captures Q's eyes, until he is sure Q understands that he needs his undivided attention. Nothing between them. No marks, no agents, no work. Even if it is for just this one moment.  
"You're a risk worth taking," he whispers, meaning every word.

Q is stunned for several seconds before he shudders and keeps himself from further outbursts by cunningly wrapping both arms around Bond and kissing him with everything he has to hide his face.

Except for his drunken confession about his drunk and sober self, Q has never used the word _'love'_ to Bond, not once, and Bond has never returned the unsaid. But every now and again, Bond would say something; something that, coming from Bond, means that much more. Some of those times, the burst of warmth makes Q smile; this time, he needs to use all of his body to express what Bond's words mean to him. Because, even though words may remain unspoken, his body won't be silenced.

Q loses track of the time he stays in Bond's lap, kissing him, _worshipping_ him. Loving him. He chases the feel and taste and sounds to treasure, and he chases away Bond's demons to the best of his ability.

At some point, he has to admit that – if he wants his exhausted agent to get some sleep in bed and not on the sofa – he will have to move the proceedings to the bedroom while he still has the mental capacity to not just take what he wants right then and there.

Regretfully, he moves out of Bond's lap and urgently drags him through the flat.

Bond is beautifully pliant, which is his very own (and rather rare) expression of being needy, and Q has no problems responding to that need.

By the time he sinks into Bond's body, he is lost in the eternally young and ancient blue of Bond's intensely focused eyes. And Bond returns the look as if he is just as lost in the infinite worlds he can see in Q's eyes.

Bond pulls him into a kiss and holds their bodies close. This limits their movements, but both revel in the closeness. Q can almost feel Bond mumble, _'Make me forget,'_ but he never says it loud enough to be quite sure.

Q does everything he can to make Bond forget, anyway. He focuses on giving Bond pleasure before he takes his own, coaxing orgasm from him before he spills inside his lover.

Then they collapse in a sweaty heap, breathing heavily, drowsiness relaxing their muscles... Sleepy, content...

Until Q suddenly slips sideways off the sweat-slick body and his cock out of Bond. He squeaks, Bond instantaneously tightens his hold... and they both burst into exhausted giggles, the last bit of tension leaving with every gust of breath.

They stay where they are for a moment longer, grinning like loons, until Bond groans and moves to get up.

"I need to get cleaned up, then I really need some sleep," he grumbles, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips.

Q enjoys the view of Bond's magnificent backside walking away and the regained lightness. As much as he loves the deep affection they can share, he loves the spark of silly understanding just as much. The latter isn't granted to them all that often, but Q also knows that Bond is probably the only one he knows in their line of work who is both an efficient killing machine and... surprisingly ridiculous on occasion. (Bond's more inappropriate comments during missions would have a lesser man despair at the comm; Q tends to just be amused in return when he's not distracted with being worried.) Q is also well aware that he himself is just as ruthless at getting people killed as Bond, and, so far, that has not diminished the love for his work.

When Bond returns to bed, they both smile, and Q – still feeling rather light-hearted – kisses Bond's forehead and mumbles, "Silly, old agent."

Bond shakes in his arms with laughter, and when he lifts his blond head, the blue eyes are sparkling.  
"Your teddy, am I?" he asks, mirthfully.

Q smirks and then innocently lifts his eyebrows. "There's still some leftover Baklava in the fridge..."

Bond snorts a laugh and hides his face in Q's neck where he nibbles at the skin, still chuckling. "I do have a thing for honey... and you." He sneaks his hand up Q's ticklish ribs, making him squeak again.

But when Q wants to retaliate, Bond swiftly twists out of his arms and heads to the kitchen. Apparently, he's not tired enough to forego Baklava.

*

Their sweet dreams are interrupted by the harsh ringing of a phone.

Q blindly reaches for it, ignoring Bond's grumpy rumbling. When he hears the voice at the other end, however, Q is immediately awake.  
"Sir?"

Bond wakes up as quickly as Q and sits next to him, watching Q blanch.

"Yes, sir." He listens some more. "I..." he begins, his eyes nervously flicking to Bond. "Yes, sir. He's here." A self-deprecating little smile forces its way onto Q's features. "Of course. Of course you knew, sir."

Bond frowns at him, not liking one bit to be left out of the loop.

"Yes, sir. We'll come in, straight away." He rings off and sighs. "Blofeld's dead."

Bond's frown deepens. "That's not bad news."

"And, apparently, he's left a message for you."

*

They arrive at Six at five in the morning, M is waiting for them in Q-Branch, which is unusual enough, but there seems to be some data that is being analysed by Q's night shift staff, Bond figures from the readings he can see on the various screens.

"So what is that message I got?" he asks, wanting this business over with as quickly as humanly possible. Q is already at his station, looking at whatever it is that his minions have been working on.

M gestures Bond to join him by the desk he's standing next to.  
"Another jab at your loved ones being killed," M says, dryly. "I'm told it's not the first time."

Bond freezes and looks at the message, then he marginally relaxes. Blofeld has mentioned _the women_ Bond loved before, that is true. And this message doesn't sound like Blofeld died up-to-date, as it were.

M nods, and lowers his voice – a rather unnecessary precaution, Bond thinks, as hiding the state of affairs from Q's team is not something they have ever tried doing, though they have never spelt out what is nobody's business.  
"Yes," M confirms, "he seemed to be unaware of the current situation. However, we have discovered the guard who has helped him commit suicide and has apparently been keeping him informed of other things, and he is in our custody and about to be questioned."

Bond's eyes darken like a bloodhound catching a scent.

M nods ruefully and amused. "Yes, we wanted you to question him, but first, we will need to have words, 007. In my office."

Bond blinks. He has a hunch where this might go, but he's not sure how it fits into the death of Blofeld and vague threats made. He nods in acknowledgement.

M turns to Q. "I trust you will know what to do with the information you've been given, Quartermaster?" The question seems a bit superfluous, as Q is already deeply engrossed in his work.

"Yes, sir."

 

Moneypenny is in M's anteroom when they arrive despite the early hour and sends Bond an unreadable look. It makes Bond's hackles rise.

In M's office, Bond takes a seat when he is being invited to, and M sits facing him.

Bond interrupts M's train of thought before it can start. "Before we discuss what you have on your mind, sir, are we quite sure Blofeld is dead and didn't just manage to somehow appear that way?"

M huffs. "He is currently being autopsied on. So, yes."

The lines around Bond's eyes crinkle. "Good to know," he allows.

M nods, dismissing the topic and moving on to the next. "I make it a policy to not get involved in my operatives' private lives," he says, somewhat rushed.

And though Bond has expected this conversation at some point, it's still an odd sort of feeling to be in it.

"But I'm afraid this one needs to be addressed, and it cannot wait, anymore," M continues.

"I see," Bond says, though he doesn't really see at all.

"I have of course been aware of the quartermaster's preoccupation, as you know, but you have not seen fit to report the change in your relationship."

"I fail to see how it affects my work, sir. And I prefer to forego the risk of creating more paperwork that could get into the wrong hands."

M's eyes harden. "It is my prerogative to evaluate what does or does not affect my employees' work performance, and for that reason, I need to be given the relevant information. It is also my prerogative to determine how such information needs to be filed or made to disappear."

Bond remains silent. He would have to concede that M is correct, but he doesn't have to like it.

M straightens in his seat, reading Bond's expression correctly. "Can I consider this your report that your professional relationship with the quartermaster has expanded?"

"Yes, sir." Bond does know how to choose his battles. Occasionally.

"Very well, then. Which brings us to the current situation." He leans forward and folds his hands on the desk. "From the intelligence we have managed to gather and that Q is now confirming, Blofeld has tried to keep SPECTRE going in his absence to the extent that was possible, but his last standing order appears to have been that Doctor Madeline Swann is to be found and killed, with the added note that you be made informed of her death. As of right now, we have no such information that Q is a target, but I have extended his security detail, nonetheless, as a precaution."

Bond can appreciate that and would have suggested it himself. "Have Blofeld's people got anywhere in their search for Doctor Swann?"

M's face pinches. "Q is working on that, but we believe that SPECTRE has somehow managed to tag her with a tracker at some point."

A shiver runs down Bond's back. He doesn't like Madeline being a target, not now that she has managed to get out of the curse that surrounds agent 007.  
"He might have done that when we were both his prisoners, but I can only explain that she wasn't killed immediately with Blofeld being the only one with access to the data."

M nods. "The access information was sent out right before his death, and I'm afraid the information suggests that the tracker may be some form of smart blood."

Bond only just manages to not rub his face in frustration. He pulls a face instead.

"Precisely. You need to find her and bring her in before anyone else gets to her. I need to know if Q's prototype has been stolen or if it's a different model. The last thing we need is a mole in Q-Branch."

"Yes, sir," Bond says, ready to return to said branch in the bowels of MI6 to get the information he needs to finally and irrevocably finish the remnants of this aggravating story.

"One moment, 007."

Bond reluctantly relaxes back into his seat.

"In no way do I wish to question the quartermaster's work ethics."

Bond raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. This had better be good, or Bond would have to have words with M when he gets back. Anyone seriously questioning Q is not something Bond will let rest.

"But I need to know if you believe he will be able to work on this mission without being compromised by your earlier association with Doctor Swann."

"I have no reason to believe he will be compromised in any way, sir," he answers, dangerously and deceptively calmly. "And I have no intention to provide him with a reason, either. If that is what you were implying."

M puts on his rueful and amused expression again. It's the expression of a person who knows his people remarkably well.  
"No implications, 007. Just concern for two exemplary employees I am unreasonably fond of."

Damn. Bond has to smile a bit. He supposes this is as much of a blessing he will ever get from Mallory.  
He stands. "Sir," he dismisses himself and leaves.

 

Back in Q-Branch, Q waits for him, looking hassled.

"Find anything?" he asks.

Q nods. "Yes. She's been tagged, but not with my smart blood."

Bond tilts his head. "Again, Q, you're delivering apparently good news with an expression that doesn't inspire confidence at all," he says sarcastically.

Q smirks at that, but then shakes his head. "No. Well, that it's not smart blood is good news, the bad news is that, from the readings we're getting, it could seriously damage her health if it is not filtered from her system as soon as possible."

Bond's cockily amused expression fades. "In what way?"

"Well. It's difficult to say without having her here, but the trackers do seem to be in her blood stream, and from the readings, they also seem somewhat... old-fashioned."

"Meaning?"

Q squares his shoulder. "Rather large to swim around her circulation without clotting any blood vessels."

Bond doesn't like the sound of that at all, but forces himself to release his breath. "We're just going to assume that it's been there for quite some time, and she is healthy enough to survive it until I find her."

Q nods. "Yes. Quite." He turns away to pick up an envelope and a watch. "Travel arrangements and a receiver for her signal," he says and hands both to Bond. "She transmits rather loudly for anyone who knows what they are looking for, so you'd better hurry, agent."

Bond puts the envelope in his jacket pocket and fastens the watch around his wrist. "I suppose questioning the suspect will have to wait."

"It does for you." Q finally hands him his gun.

"Thank you, Q."

"God's speed, 007."

One final, shared smile, and Bond is off.

* * *

**Note – since people were asking:** Q's cats are named after [Ada Lovelace](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ada_Lovelace) and [Sofia Kovalevskaya](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sofia_Kovalevskaya).

* * *


	7. High Time

Madeline Swann knows how to hide. She has learnt very early that hiding means surviving. Soon after that – and still too early for any child – she's had to learn that, sometimes, hiding isn't enough, and the only thing ensuring continued survival is killing before being killed.

Madeline knows how to kill first, despite her best efforts, despite her refusal to get drawn into the world of assassins and spies.  
She doesn't shy away from it because it eats away at her soul. On the contrary: she shies away from it because it _doesn't_ , and she knows what happens to people who don't leave that life behind while they still can.

She breathes harshly, hides behind a desk and is annoyed at herself that after having been attacked four days ago and leaving the country, she has decided to hide in a school building of all places. She should have known better. Should have been more careful.  
She is also terribly relieved that it is night-time and there are no children around.

She wasn't truly surprised when she was tracked down. It had always been a matter of time. So she was faster, killed first. Her attackers not expecting her to fight back. She disappeared again, hid. She knows how to, after all.

And then, she was found again. Only days after the last time. It can't be a coincidence; she is well aware of that.  
She keeps breathing, loads her gun. It's four attackers, this time. Two, she has managed to kill before running out of ammunition.

"Tu ne peux pas te cacher!" one of them calls out as they enter the room. (Not locals, then. Bounty hunters, most likely.) "Nous t'attraperons, salope!"

Madeline's hands shake, but she finishes loading her gun. "C'est toujours moi qui tue en premier," she whispers. She breathes out slowly, her eyes grow cold...

But before she can kill again, there are two shots, making her tense the hand holding her gun, her whole body taut as a string. She listens for steps, more taunts. Anything.

"Madeline!"

The change in her expression is instantaneous. A heavy breath escapes almost like a sob, the hardness of her eyes disappears, and she lowers her gun before she shakes herself out of her stupor and aims a steady gun hand around the desk. Because it can't be.

"Madeline, it's me. It's James."

She can see the two bodies lying on the ground, the disembodied voice coming from somewhere around the corner.  
"Come out where I can see you!" she demands, her voice as steadfast as her gun.

And then he's there, coming around the corner and stowing away his gun. Madeline doesn't know what to think. She never thought she'd see him again, never even knew if she'd want to. He's the most dangerous person she knows, and she immediately feels safe.

She stands up but never lets go of her weapon. "James," she greets him, and she thinks that she probably sounds both shaken and defiant. "Did you lead them to me again?"

James approaches her, hands held out in a disarming gesture. "Not this time." Then he tilts his head. "I'm not even entirely sure it was me, last time."

A tremulous laugh shakes her shoulders. "It _was_ you," she insists.

James takes off his watch and holds it out for her. "Put this on. It will jam the signal you're broadcasting."

Her smile disappears. "What signal?" She lays the gun on the desk for long enough to put on the watch, then picks it up again. "I never let anyone get close enough to me to put a tracker on me."

James looks like he's flattered that she doesn't immediately suspect him of having tagged her to keep an eye out for her. As well he should be, she thinks. She doesn't trust as readily with most people.

"Were you injected with something when we were captured in the desert?"

Madeline frowns. "I was dehydrated," she says, the words feeling stale in her mouth as she says them. "Because of the... drastic climate change..."

James sighs and takes a breath, Madeline can only assume it's to start explaining himself, but then he tilts his head to the side, listening. His eyes sharpen.  
"They have backup coming," he says and holds out his hand.

Madeline looks at the hand for an odd second, then firms the grip on her gun and heads towards the exit. "Let's go, then. I want to know why you are here."

James follows her, his weapon in his hand again, too. "Making sure you can walk away from me this time without a target on your back," he all but growls.

Madeline doesn't let herself think about what is going on, anymore. The past few days have given her a whiplash, she almost got to the point where she accepted the fact that she wouldn't be able to get herself out of this alive when she was found a second time. And now there is James Bond again, appearing in the smoke of his gun like some avenging angel who always shows up when she least expects it. What she is supposed to do with the fact that he is now apparently back, she's not sure.

She will send him on his way again – and Bond has implied the same – but the infuriating man is still the same magnetic personality he ever was. At least all she feels is a warm (if dangerous) fondness and perhaps a melancholic sort of love for a memory, she notes with relief.

James obviously still listens to the voice in his ear, as they step outside. "One would think that a few lackeys less would be a good thing," he murmurs. Then his eyes flick to Madeline, and he doesn't add anything else.

A car is parked hidden out of sight around the corner.

"Let's go," James says, and Madeline decides that she can start questioning what he asks of her when they're a safe distance away.  
"The backup will only find the dead bodies, and we'll be long gone," he says, possibly both to Madeline and the voice in his ear. He quickly looks at her before focusing on the road. "They can't track you when you're wearing the watch. Don't worry."

Madeline absently touches the watch. It's not the same model as the one that blew up, but she has the feeling that this one could do the same if prompted...

"Are you alright?"

Madeline's jaw sets. "I killed four people in as many days."

James curses under his breath. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster."

Madeline nods, her eyes firmly on the landscape flashing past them. "That doesn't explain why you knew to be here, in the first place." The remark sounds like an accusation or perhaps a question.

"Blofeld's dead."

Madeline's eyes close of their own volition for a moment, and she releases a tense breath.

"His last standing order was that you should be found and killed." He raises an eyebrow at her. "The man knows how to hold a grudge."

Madeline rolls her eyes at James' snark returning, but she smiles a bit.

"And it seems he was the only one who knew how to find the signal you're carrying and gave out that information before his death."

She stares at him. "It _seems_? You do not know?" Her tone is now definitely accusatory.

"We caught the one who got that information out, but I had to leave before the questioning." The sarcasm is back, now, too. "My priority was something else, you know."

Her lips twitch in contrition. At least when compared to the questioning of a lackey, she still comes out a priority, despite walking out on him.  
"Thank you," she makes herself say, eventually.

"You're welcome." He pauses as if bracing himself. "I need to take you back to London."

" _What_?" The thought doesn't even have the time to properly register when she answers. "I am _not_ going to London. I need to disappear again."

James nods, calmly. "Yes, and you will. But first, we need to get those pesky microchips out of your blood."

Madeline isn't impressed by the continuously intensifying snark. "What about this watch, then? I thought it would take care of that?"

James' snarky expression is replaced by a somewhat hesitant one. "Q is currently analysing the data he gets from the watch, and it's about as bad as he expected from what he can tell at a distance."

Her (apparently microchipped) blood is running cold. "What do you mean?"

James listens to the voice in his ear, again and sighs. "Our fears were confirmed. It appears that the nano technology Blofeld used wasn't as... sophisticated as the one in my blood. It needs to get out before it does some damage."

Madeline's academic mind is running through the possibilities of what James has just told her. She remembers the occasional tingling in her hands, cramping calves, shortness of breath. Nothing drastic, and nothing that didn't eventually dissolve again. She has put it down to stress. Hiding for your life is quite stressful, after all.  
"There might have been some... minor symptoms," she allows, softly, making James curse again. "I don't think I'm in acute danger, though."

James' hands tighten on the steering wheel. "We'll get you London, get rid of the chips, check you over, and then Q will help you disappear in a way that nobody can trace you, ever again."

Her jaw sets and she forces herself to breathe.

"I won't have your blood on my hands," he adds, and she can't but agree that this would be a good thing. For both of them, really.

Which leaves her to wonder how James has been doing in the past... year. Has it been a year already? Nearly one and a half, even.  
She doesn't say anything, though, but the thought stays with her for the long drive to the airfield. Or the long stretch of land serving as one.

One of the upsides of Argentina is the many possibilities to land a small plane. This has been her reasoning when fleeing here as well as for when she would eventually leave again. Argentina is a good enough hiding place, but it was never going to be a permanent solution, as far as those even exist for someone like her.

When she sees the plane, she perks up. "I hope you trust your pilot."

James smirks a bit. "I do."

The engines are already starting when they get out of the car and up the steps into the plane.

James closes the door behind them, but nothing short of being in the air would calm Madeline at this point. She touches her watch, again. No doubt the work of the mysterious _'Q'_.

"Is your Q flying?" she asks, remembering well how James would trust him unquestioningly.

James laughs. "Q hates flying and doesn't if he can avoid it. He'd never actually pilot a plane." He leads her to the cockpit. "Madeline. Meet Eve Moneypenny."

Madeline remembers the woman vaguely and nods. "Hello."

Moneypenny grins at her from her pilot's chair. "Welcome aboard. Get a seat in the back; we're leaving."

The engines grow louder, and Madeline finds herself a seat, puts on the seatbelt with still sweaty hands, and squints out of the window, nervously. She hasn't survived this long without a sizeable paranoia.

James sits facing her, cool as you please, and just watches her. It should be unnerving to be on the receiving end of all that attention, but instead it merely feels reassuring.

Once they're in the air and the ground is fading, she relaxes the hand that is still holding onto her gun. She gingerly puts the weapon down on the seat next to her.

"You'll be fine," James says, sounding more like he is trying to convince himself than her.

She nods. "Yes. As I have said, now that I know what to look for, the symptoms have not been worrying, so far."

James nods as well. "I still want those things out of your blood."

Madeline clasps her hands, forcing the tremors down. "Yes," is all she replies to that. The English language still eludes her to express certain things. And she doesn't trust herself to resort to French. Not now. Not in front of James. French is too personal, and she is too shaken.

James' unnerving and compassionate eyes never leave her.

"How have you been?" she asks in an attempt to divert the attention.

James smiles, and it surprises her to see actual contentment hiding behind it.  
"I've been well."

And she believes him, too. He radiates honesty. (Which should make her suspicious, but since he's James, it doesn't.)

"And how have you been? Up until they found you?"

She smiles, as well. She supposes the word that would fit most would also be _'contentment'_. Hiding, yes, but that hardly fazes her, anymore. She's been with MSF for a field assignment and has then moved to a trauma centre. All of which she has done with perfectly forged identities. Her being discovered has... been an unexpected shock.  
"I have been well." Returning to meaningful work has helped quite a bit.

"Doing what you're good at, no doubt."

Her lips quirk. "Doing what I'm better at than what I was doing when you first met me."

James chuckles, then his expression softens. "Good."

The memory of their first meeting surfaces through a hazy fog, and reminds her of entirely different things.  
"You said Blofeld is dead?"

James shifts in his seat. "Yes." 

"How?"

His mind is as far away as the look in his eyes. "Apparently, his injuries were worse than we knew, and he would have died from their effects, soon." He huffs and focuses on Madeline, again. "So he killed himself and used the occasion to get out his final, petty request."

Madeline thinks about that. The petty request to kill her to spite James...

"Rather anticlimactic, don't you think?" James muses. "Big criminal empire, and its head snuffs out with only the thought of revenge on a blue-eyed orphan boy."

Madeline nods, absently. Blofeld was rather pathetic in that light. Powerful, but ultimately pathetic.  
She leans back in her seat and suddenly feels very drained as the adrenaline clears away.

"Would you like something to help you sleep?"

She huffs. "Falling asleep won't be a problem."

"No. But staying asleep and not waking in a panic in a couple of hours will be."

He does have a point, and she knows it. She sees no reason to fight him on this, and even if she did, she's too tired. "Alright."

As she drifts off, she can hear James report back to his quartermaster with a soft voice. Then she's asleep.

*

James brings her to the labs of MI6 before he disappears to do whatever it is that James Bond does when he's at work and leaves her to wait for whatever it is that is done to people with nasty microchips in their blood.

She sits in a chair that evokes quite horrifying memories of sadists with drills, the empty room making her feel as if the walls are closing in on her.

She almost explosively breathes out when a familiar voice greets her.

"Doctor Swann." Q enters the room and walks around her chair to look at her with a friendly smile and three people who look like medical personnel more than engineers.

"Q." The disarming smile and playful eyes put her at ease. "It should be _doctor_ , too, I'm sure..."

Q snickers. "Yes, in two fields, but there is no need to call me Doctor Q." He gestures for the medics to come closer.  
"We will first perform a simple dialysis to remove the trackers from your blood," he says, and she shudders. She knows that a dialysis is not something to worry about, but the thought still makes her skin crawl.  
"I will then analyse in more detail what it was that's been injected into your bloodstream, while our medical staff examine you to ensure that there is no damage."

The medics are rolling in the hemodialysis unit and ready her for treatment, even as Q is talking.

He must notice her wary expression and catches her eyes.  
"This will take quite some time. Would you like a television to be brought in? Or would you rather listen to some music?"

Madeline shakes her head. "Just get this over with."

It takes five minutes for Q to have the first samples to analyse, and the medical staff leave them to it, but promise to check in on the procedure regularly over the next few hours.

Q looks thoroughly unsurprised when she finally breaks the silence.

"Q?"

"Yes?" he leaves his computer with whatever calculation it's doing and turns in his chair to look at her.

"You work with James, don't you?"

"Yes."

"He trusts you?"

"I trust him as much."

Madeline nods, thoughtfully. "He told me that he has been doing well." She looks up, observing his reaction. "Has he?"

Q smiles a bit. "I would say that this isn't my question to answer, but since he's already done that, I suppose I can agree at least. He _has_ been doing well."

"As well as assassins can do," she remarks, making him laugh.

"Yes. But he is rather a special case, isn't he?"

That has her smile, honestly. Yes. Yes, he is. "And he's not alone." She's not sure why she says it. Like a soft melody reminding her of something.

Q looks at her as if he is reminded of something, too, or perhaps like he's finally found the last piece of a puzzle... but he remains silent and keeps his thoughts to himself.

*

The rest of the day goes in much the same way. She supposes that she is lucky that she doesn't have to be brought somewhere else to have CT scans and MRIs done, but is instead scanned with experimental inventions Q has been developing to more efficiently scan his charges.

"The machinery is such a hassle, wouldn't you agree?" he says. "The size, the cost..." Then he smiles apologetically. "But I'm afraid even my invention won't spare you the injection with dye."

At that point, Madeline doesn't much care, anymore. She just wants to sleep for a week and then disappear from the face of the planet.

 

She lies in a bed in medical, alone once more, when Q joins her.

"Congratulations. You are no longer broadcasting any signals."

She nods, smiling, tiredly.

"But we're going to have to wait for the results of some of the medical tests, so you might as well sleep. It's late."

She nods again. "James said you can help me disappear."

"And I will. I have devised a program that will make you vanish in several steps. I will know the first location and identity you will be sent out with. After that, the program does the rest, and I can assure you, not even I could trace you back to where you came from."

"But I could still be found."

"Well, yes. But I trust that you remember how to hide. You would not have been found, this time, not without the tracker."

"Thank you."

As Q checks some readouts, she falls asleep. She can almost hear James entering her room at some point but doesn't wake.

 

When she blinks in a haze, her body still working through quite a number of chemicals, James _is_ in her room, standing by the door with the quartermaster. They are talking quietly.

They are standing close. James has always spoken of Q very fondly, so that doesn't surprise her.  
The following kiss does.

It's a lovely kiss, is the first thing going through her mind, but she isn't entirely awake at that point. Not just lovely, lov _ing_. James cups the young man's cheek; Q nips gently. And they both have their eyes closed trustfully.

She loses the fight against her exhaustion, and the last thing she hears before she is asleep is, "I'll see you at home." She thinks it's James who says it.

 

When she opens her eyes again, James is still there, leaning against the wall opposite her.

"Welcome back," he says, looking at ease.

She hums in her half-sleep and rubs her face. "What time is it?" She reaches for the remote of her bed and sits up.

"Just past ten." His voice is soft, perhaps to match the late hour.

As she studies him, she remembers her dream. If it even was a dream. She's not sure.  
"Shouldn't you be at home?"

James smiles benignly, as if he knows something she doesn't. "Not just yet."

His expression together with the comment makes Madeline think that it probably wasn't a dream, after all.

"Q was here, earlier," she says, nonchalantly, on a hunch.

"I know." James' voice is still soft, his eyes sharpen nearly imperceptibly, however.

Madeline folds her hands in her lap, plays with her fingers. "He's very smart." She looks up and directly into James' eyes. "Very beautiful."

James grins, amused. "He is, yes. Both." He smirks. "Just my type."

She laughs again. Leave it to him to compliment her and his new lover at the same time. Then she raises her chin in clear a gesture of benign challenge. "Do you love him?"

James hesitates for hardly more than a second. "Yes," he replies, calmly. Then, to Madeline's surprise, he suddenly tilts his head and laughs out loud.

At her questioning look, he actually giggles a bit before he can explain his outburst.

"It would seem the guardian angel in my ear was still listening. And I do believe he may have just dropped something..."

This makes her laugh as well, and she waits as James talks to his _'guardian angel'_.

Bond still chuckles and brushes away a laughing tear from the corner of his eye. "For god's sake, Q. Calm down. It's alright." Another intimate smile into the emptiness in the middle-distance in front of James. "Like I said. It's alright. Now close your bloody station and go home. I'll see you later."

Madeline's smile slowly turns bittersweet. She can see how that would have been a good choice for James.  
"You haven't told him before, then?"

"No," James admits, unbothered. "I suppose it was time."

"I understand how he might be right for you."

James hums in agreement.

"Work and love. He would of course let you keep your work."

James' expression does something inscrutable. Madeline can't quite place it.  
"Q doesn't _let_ me do anything. We both do what we have to do. And he understands that."

She draws in a sharp breath. "And I don't."  
Her own feelings are a bit conflicted, as well. Both annoyed and resigned. She is well aware that she could not accept James' work. Still can't. 

But James just smiles. "Yes, you do," he contradicts, full of acceptance and fondness. "That's why you left."

Her smile returns. Honest and true.

*

"Q!" Eve shouts when Q's favourite mug shatters on the floor, and Q keeps himself upright after his misstep by pressing onto the keyboard of his laptop, accidentally opening his bloody microphone.

" _Shit_! Shit, shit, shit!"  
He is so shocked at what he's just heard and the fact that he's been listening in on a private conversation that the laughter in his ear doesn't even register.  
"Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to eavesdrop!" he blurts out. "I know this was private, and I really didn't mean to listen in; I just forgot; I'm so used to hearing your breathing and just _being there_ –" His tirade is being interrupted by Bond, and Q remembers to breathe again and notices that Eve hasn't conveniently disappeared.

Eve, having pieced together at least some of what must have been going on (though Q doubts that Eve could have predicted Bond's words even in her wildest dreams), helpfully smirks at him.

"I truly am sorry, James. I didn't think..." Once more, the words at the other end interrupt him, and he has to smile.  
"Alright. I'll see you at home."

Under Eve's amused stare, he cuts the connection and takes out his ever-present ear-piece.

"Naughty," she informs him.

Q rolls his eyes (affectionately). "I really didn't mean to listen."

"Hm..." Eve muses, studying Q. "Perhaps," she allows. "The two of you are awfully cute. Always being each other's voice in your ears." Then she raises an eyebrow at the mess of mug shards on the floor.  
"So what caused this little disaster?"

"Oh," Q exhales, remembering the pieces and crouching down to pick them up. "He just startled me, that's all." He wisely keeps his eyes on the porcelain and _not_ anywhere where Eve could see whatever is unseemly sparkling in them.  
In retrospect, there probably was no reason to be as shocked as he is, surely? After all, Q doesn't think he's that hard to love. Not hard enough that it would warrant the demise of his favourite mug and _oh god James said he loves me, how can this be real, he is James bloody Bond, for fuck's sake!_

He startles when Eve suddenly appears in his line of sight, having crouched down next to him. She takes the shards from him.  
"Before you cut yourself," she says with a sardonic tilt to the lips.

Q is about to roll his eyes again, but then he just smiles and flops onto the floor, sighing. Because everything is fine, and this is just Eve being Eve.  
"Well, apparently, he loves me."

"Well, I knew _that_ ," is her immediate answer, followed by a smirk. "Didn't expect him to say it, quite so soon, though."  
She stands and puts the remains of the mug in the trash. "Now, Q, I do believe you promised a certain someone that you would be going home..."

Q heaves himself off the floor. No sense in denying that. "I did."

Eve grins widely and slings an arm around Q's shoulders. "Come on, you irresistible darling. I'll drive you. Time to end this mission."

Yes. High time.

* * *

__

_The French:_  
_\- "You can't hide! We'll catch you, slut!"_  
_\- "I'm always the first one to kill."_  
_Thank you for your help,[Usah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Usah)_ ♥


	8. Epilogue

Q waits at home. Nervously, he keeps walking to the window to look out for James, berates himself for doing it for the umpteenth time, walks back to the kitchen, only to find himself by the window again and then start the whole process anew.

His cats sit on the sofa, unimpressed. Sofia's tail flicks back and forth as she keeps her eyes on Q's nervous pacing, and Ada lifts her head every time he passes.

Eventually, and annoyed with himself, he takes off his suit, puts on some jeans and an old t-shirt, and returns to stand in the middle of the living room, accusatorily staring at Ada and Sofia.

"You can both drop the condescension, right now," he informs them. "I love that stupid, infuriating man to bits, and now he went and told his ex of all people that he loves me, like it's not even a kind of red letter day event that would put flying pigs to shame, and you two have nothing better to do than stare at me like I've lost my mind, which, to be fair, I probably have..."

His aimless rant is interrupted by the click of the lock and the door opening, making his heart do medically inadvisable things.  
Q stands in the hallway before he realises that his legs have carried him there.

James has already locked the door and is taking off his shoes and coat with a soft smile.

Q's not sure what his own expression is doing.

James smirks. "Hello, you super spy."

Q can feel his warmth spread in his chest and the skin of his cheeks pulls, so he's probably smiling like a lunatic and trying to hide it.  
"I absolutely fucking hate you," he bursts out with so much love in his voice that the dichotomy is probably shaking the whole building.

James' grin widens, hearing the declaration exactly as it was meant.

Both take two long strides and come together in a grinning kiss, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

After a good, long while, James grabs Q's arse with both hands and lifts him up, making him yelp and cling like a limpet.  
"I love you too," Bond murmurs into Q's neck before biting it.

Q draws in a sharp breath, and it has nothing to do with the teeth on his skin. He grabs James' head and pulls him into a kiss.  
"You're a dick for telling your ex before me," he declares.

James grins wolfishly. "I'll show you _dick_..." he growls, making a beeline for the bedroom.

Q bursts out laughing. " _So_ cheesy. I'm terribly disappointed."

James throws him onto the bed, making him laugh some more and bounce once. Then James climbs on top of him, pressing him into the mattress with his body.

Q half sighs, half moans; James' warm weight on him always feels _so right_. He cradles James with his legs and arms, wishing they could just merge and melt into the bed and never resurface.  
"Oh, James," he breathes out, his heart in his throat.

James kisses him, obviously enjoying himself as much as Q. When he breaks the kiss, he looks into Q's hazy eyes that refuse to close.  
"Still disappointed?" he asks with a grin.

Q returns the grin. "Just in your lines. Never you."

James undulates downwards, eliciting another moan and licks Q's lips.  
"I am going to take you apart, tonight."

Q releases a shuddering breath. "This night. Every night. I'm all yours."

James continues kissing him for a long time, not really wanting to break the contact to undress. Just his hands find their way under Q's t-shirt and onto warm skin.

Q breaks the kiss for him when he has to giggle because James has managed to find a particularly ticklish spot. Q's body wriggles within James' embrace uncontrollably, which ends in both of them laughing and grappling and rolling around in bed like puppies. Or perhaps a puppy and a lion.

James seems to agree with that thought, chuckling. "Enough of this, pup," he says and makes short shrift of Q's t-shirt (the glasses having already disappeared at some point during the shenanigans).

Q grins widely at him, frames his face with both hands and pulls him into another kiss, while James blindly takes off his own tie and shirt without breaking the kiss. The vest does demand a break of perhaps two seconds before they come back together bare-chested.

James then cradles Q's upper body with one arm while the other is busy taking off Q's jeans and pants.

When Q is completely naked, he lets his legs fall open even more to give James all the access he could want. And James wants all of it, caressing the inside of one of Q's thighs and up over his arse and between his cheeks.

Q lets go of James' shoulder with one hand and searches for the lube he's put under the pillow earlier, making James chuckle into the kiss when the tube is being shoved in his hand.

"My diligent boy scout..."

Q snickers. "I always have to be prepared when it comes to you."

James wastes no time, opens the tube, squeezes out some jelly one-handed, and easily works in two fingers with little to no resistance.  
"Not only prepared, but ready," James quips.

A breathy laugh escapes Q. He does so love the laughter they can share in the bedroom... James is certainly the most passionate lover he's ever had, but he's also the most playful one when the mood strikes. (Which really shouldn't have surprised him. James can see the humour in the unlikeliest of situations.)  
"So get on with it."

Unhurriedly, James slips in a third finger. "Hmm... no." Q's breath hitches. "I think I'll play with you for a bit, first."  
He slowly moves his fingers in and out of Q, rotates them, pushes inside and forward, all the while watching Q's prick lying heavily on his stomach, leaking steadily with every movement that goes _just so_...

Q whimpers when James uses his thumb to press the spot right behind his balls in tune with the thrusts of the fingers of the same hand inside of him. He can feel his cock leak and make a sticky mess, knowing that James won't let him come just yet.  
"More," he gasps, not sure if he means more of this exquisite torture or more fucking that would get him off.

James makes the decision without further elaboration and adds a fourth finger to the other three.  
"The upside of finger-fucking you is that I can watch you lose it while I get to keep a clear head," he informs Q.

Q can't but agree, but he also can't articulate it, anymore.

"I bet I could make you come untouched, this way."

Q can feel that this is probably true. James knows his body so well; sometimes he even thinks that James probably knows it better than he does.  
He whimpers when the pressure inside of him and behind his balls intensifies, and the precome and the sweat on his belly trickle into his pubic hair and down one side of his torso where too much of it has pooled to stay there. Heat is drawing up his balls, and he feels as if he is leaving his body, watching himself lose any connection to reality, to his body, to anything but the connection to James.  
He is distantly aware that he is swearing a string of mindless and loving profanity, more because he can hear his voice than because he is uttering the words...

And then James stops the pressure of his thumb on the outside and moves it to loosen Q's hole even more on the edge of oblivion...

Q arches off the bed with a breathless moan, his cock pumping out jets of come onto his stomach with every thrust of all of James' fingers, snapping his awareness back into his body with an earth-shattering orgasm.

His sight returns to him only once his breathing slows, and he sees James drawing mindless patterns with the fluid on Q's torso with his free hand.

"Inside me, now, James."

James smirks. "You clamped down pretty hard. Maybe I should first..."

Q is still breathing heavily, but he has no doubt that his body will have no problems accommodating James' lovely prick.  
"The way you loosened me up, I doubt that my hole will close properly when you take out your fingers..." His voice is hoarse even to his own ears, and he likes what it does to James to hear it.

James slowly removes his fingers from Q's hole, at first keeping his eyes on Q's face before looking down and inspecting his work. His breath hitches when he sees what Q has already hinted at, and his fingers play along the sweet rim.  
"You are so very ready for me."

Q smiles at him, probably glowing with sweat and euphoria, and lets his legs fall open as far as they will go.

James, still wearing his trousers, opens his flies and pushes trousers and pants down far enough to get his aching prick free of its restrictions.  
He reaches for the lube with a questioning look on his face.

Q only nods. "We're both tested all the time, anyway, and I want to feel at least as much come inside me as you just fucked out of me."

"Jesus..." It's James voice that now sounds decidedly less controlled than it usually does. He covers his cock in lube and moves it towards Q's hole that is twitching but still not closing completely. Then he pushes inside.  
"You..." he says, staying upright and watching Q's reclined form taking him in like he's made for it; he thrusts again, "... are an amazing fuck."

Q can now enjoy James taking him without the desperation of his own impending release, and the sensation makes him grin joyously. "You're an amazing fucker."

James has to laugh, and his thrusts stutter for a moment before he regains control.  
He quickens his movements soon, obviously not having been unaffected by what he has done to Q first. His eyes hardly ever leave the spot where they are joined intimately, carnally. He grunts with every thrust, wanting to claim, own, mark as his...

"Fill me, James," Q urges him on, using both his hands to run over his own thighs, over his cock and balls and to spread his arse cheeks even more than the position already does. It's as much an invitation to fuck him as he is able to convey. "Give me your come. Take me, _own_ me..."

James hypnotically watches his slick cock thrust into Q's willing hole, hardly aware of his own orgasm approaching. It is an endless moment, until it is interrupted by a primitive roar as James spills into his lover with a handful of dizzying thrusts...

Q helps his spent agent collapse next to him and watches his wits slowly returning. He feels James' cock slip out of him and a trickle of come follow after, and he licks his lips.

That is when James opens his eyes again, and one of his hands finds Q's hole and plays around the rim with a finger, pushes in a digit to coax out more come. He growls contentedly.

Q moves against the finger and licks James' lips. "I'm all fucked out."

James hums in agreement and grins a bit when the finger makes a sweet, slick sound.  
"So lovely..." he says and moves both arms to wrap around Q and hold him close. Then he grins.  
"I think you'll soon be ready for another round, though..."

Q smirks into the following kiss, wraps one leg around James' torso, takes one of James' hands and moves it towards his arse again.  
"Put those fingers back to good use..." he demands, his pupils dilating.

And James does.  
"With pleasure."

*

Bond is called in the next morning for a brief with M because of a new mission, so he leaves Q to deal with the last necessary steps to make Madeline disappear and heads for M's office.

"Good morning, James," Eve greets him.

Bond grins and hangs his coat. "Good morning, Miss Moneypenny."

She studies him when he approaches her desk for a bit of a chat before he's called in.  
"You're not going to say goodbye?" she asks, obviously not feeling the need to clarify whom he is supposed to say goodbye _to_.

Bond leans his hip against her desk. "I've already done that, yesterday. Also, to be fair, I've already done it a year ago, too."

Eve tilts her head a bit. "No unfinished business?"

Bond's eyes glint with amusement. "I think we already liked our business where it was – namely, behind us – but the last few days have confirmed it." His expression softens. "All's well that ends well."

"Or begins well, as I'm sure our dear Q would agree," she says, smirking unrepentantly.

Bond chuckles at her cheek. Then he lowers his voice and leans closer, conspiratorially. "I made sure that he'll be thinking of me today."

"Hmm..." Eve muses. "Will he blush when I ask him about it, later?"

Bond is about to reply when Eve's computer dings.

Eve sighs and leans back. "He's ready to see you, now."

Bond stands and pulls his jacket back into place.

Eve's amusement visibly changes to fondness. "Just make sure you remember to come back whenever you're sent out."

Bond smiles. Isn't it always about that?  
"I always return," he says. "It's just that, now, I have more reason to do so than just the prospect of the next mission."

Eve smiles too. It's hard not to. She is so very fond of her two friends.  
She presses the button to open the door and inclines her head. "James."

Bond returns the small nod. "Miss Moneypenny."

With that, he disappears behind the door.

Time to be sent out. And return.

**~~THE END~~ **

**JAMES BOND WILL RETURN**

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